


Hard Line

by LadyJFox



Series: Hard Reality [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action, Drama & Romance, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2018-10-31 15:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJFox/pseuds/LadyJFox
Summary: It's been nine years after the Eurussian Incident and the Earth Sphere Unified Nation continues to experience peace through communication and cooperation. Quatre Raberba Winner, while finishing his doctoral thesis in engineering at MIT in Boston, reconnects with his friend and ex-boyfriend, Trowa Barton. A romantic flame is rekindled while an old enemy plots his revenge.





	1. Prologue

January, 198

Quatre anxiously tapped his fingers on the soft leather hand rest of the car seat incessantly. Trowa watched him carefully, keeping a critical eye out for any reason to pull the plug on this misguided venture. Quatre was a ball of nerves, ready to burst out of his flimsy shell at any minute and in every direction. The Xanax he’d taken when they had first gotten into the car was at least keeping him from falling apart, but Trowa worried it might not be enough to get him through the impending interview.

It was the beginning of January. Rashid, Quatre, and himself had returned to Quatre’s home colony within the L4 cluster for the holiday break. In another week, Quatre would be back at school on Earth, finishing his final semester of high school and Trowa would go back to work for Preventer, the Earth Sphere Unified Nation’s anti-weapons proliferation agency.

Quatre was barely a month past his 18th birthday which had seen him graduate to taking full and direct control over his family’s company, Winner Enterprises Incorporated. Previously overseen by a Board of Directors and a few of his sisters while he was underage, the company’s fate was now in the hands of a high schooler.

In the last few years, the company had been forced to repair a tarnished image after the colony’s citizens had turned against Quatre’s father, the company’s owner at the time, during the war. Afraid of losing the company’s hard earned gains, the transfer of power to the former owner’s prodigal son, had been met with hesitation and anxiety from the Board. The last few weeks had been spent working with them and making operational plans for when he was away at school.

It had been during one of these meetings that the marketing division had pitched a revamped campaign that capitalized on Quatre’s youth and “vision”. Quatre had been reluctant at first but had eventually been convinced to say yes. Apparently, the test market data had been persuasive enough to overrule his modesty. Quatre’s personal life was now effectively tied to the company's rebranding efforts.

Trowa thought it all a bit much to put on Quatre so soon, the PTSD notwithstanding. But the company was legally his and Quatre wasn’t one to shirk his responsibilities. Which explained what they were doing in this car and what had Quatre jittering like a crack addict. The Board had recently hired a new communications director, Marney, and Marney had pitched the brilliant idea to have Quatre do a morning show interview before he left the colony.

Nevermind the fact that Quatre was naturally self-effacing and uncomfortable in the spotlight. Nevermind the fact that he had just been shot and almost killed less than six months ago. Nevermind the fact that he was only three months into his psychotherapy for the PTSD he’d gotten as a result and nevermind that his medications were still being adjusted.

“It’s just a local morning show Quatre,” Marney said, looking back over her shoulder at him from the front passenger seat. Trowa glared at her from his position directly behind her. She didn’t notice.

“We’re a metropolis,” Quatre reminded her, not that she really needed it. “‘Local’ is still over 200,000 people watching.”

“You actually looked up their viewership,” she asked with surprise.

“I did the math,” he replied, turning his attention to the scenery passing by. Trowa smiled. Of course, he would.

He reached over and placed his hand on top of Quatre’s, threading their fingers together, causing Quatre to tear his eyes away from the window and look at him. He stared into his boyfriend’s deep blue eyes. “You can always pull out,” he told him.

Quatre stared back for a long moment. “That’s _bad_ phrasing, Trowa,” he deadpanned.

From the driver’s seat, Rashid made a coughing sound and Marney threw her head back in laughter. “You know what I meant,” he chided before leaning up against his own window, but the ghost of a smile graced Quatre’s lips a moment before the car pulled into a parking spot.

“Alright,” Rashid said as he put the car into park. “Everyone out.” Trowa and Quatre shared a long look before the Winner heir took a deep breath. They opened their doors at the same time and exited the vehicle. The eight-story office building with floor to ceiling windows along the sides towered above them.

“Think they’d be able to tell if we just sent in a cardboard cutout instead?” Quatre asked as they walked up the entrance stairs.

“We can always cancel if it's too much,” Rashid said as he held the main door open. Despite his trepidation, Quatre led the way. Marney playfully whacked him on the shoulder with the back of the hand.

“They’re nice people. It’ll be fun.”

Quatre looked at her doubtfully as the four of them huddled together in the lobby. “I think you need another definition of fun.”

______________________________________________________________________

The elevator dinged and Joline stepped out of the elevator and turned right. She passed the long mirror that ran along the side of the wall and paused for a quick assessment of her appearance before she met the studio’s guests. Her wavy auburn hair framed her delicate face and her green eyes stared back at her confidently. With a black on white polka dot blouse, black blazer, black dress pants, and stylish, but fashionable boots, she was the epitome of professionalism.

As a junior journalism student at the local college and recently landing the coveted internship at GNN’s local news station WXKY, she felt on top of the world. Furthermore, it had been her, out of the many studio interns, who had been chosen to greet the party of Mr. Quatre Raberba Winner. The studio had been elated to book the Winner Corporation's new CEO and she had been equally elated to be their handler.

Her mouth quirked up at the corner and she turned on her heel. Holding her memo book in the crook of her left arm, she strode confidently around the corner.

She saw them immediately. Zayeed Winner, the former CEO and family patriarch, had been notorious for keeping his children out of the press. Not that it mattered. Dressed in a gray and white three piece suit and standing around with obnoxiously perfect posture, the guy stood out. Blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and what appeared from the outside to be a fit body… He was handsome, she’d give him that at least.

Three others were with him. A shrewd-looking blonde woman stood toward the front, his PR coordinator, no doubt. The large bear of a man had to be Mr. Winner’s, now former, legal guardian. He stood behind her and to the right of the Earth Sphere’s youngest CEO. The last of the group, an attractive, tall, slender guy with sandy brown hair that covered half his face stood at the back. She had no idea who he was.

Joline noticed that, despite his initially calm appearance, Mr. Winner’s fingers were tapping quickly against his thigh. He was nervous. The two older adults of the group began discussing something with each other, shifting slightly, giving Joline a better view of the two young men.

The tall one at the back reached forward, toward Mr. Winner’s fidgeting hand. Sensing the motion, Mr. Winner half turned in the guy’s direction. Mystery Guy leaned forward and his mouth moved, saying something to the young business owner. Their hands touched for a brief moment before the sound of her boots clapping against the hard floor echoed throughout the lobby, drawing everyone’s attention.

Immediately, tall, dark, and mysterious pulled away, stuffing both hands in his jeans pockets. _Interesting_ , she thought and made a mental note of the exchange. She didn’t have time to dwell on it though. Mr. Winner’s PR person strode forward, bringing the group along with her. Joline smiled as the woman approached. “Hello and welcome to GNN’s WXKY,” she said, shaking hands with the woman. “My name is Joline and I’ll be taking care of you this morning.”

“Good morning. I’m Marney McAllister, Mr. Winner’s communications director. I hope we’re not too early.”

“No, not at all. You’re right on time,” she reassured her. McAllister had a welcoming smile, almost motherly. Certainly a friendly face you’d want on camera when you needed someone on TV speaking for you.

McAllister turned to her right, introducing Rashid Kurama, Mr. Winner’s former legal guardian, and then Mystery Guy, whose name was apparently Trowa Barton. “A friend” McAllister had called him and Joline couldn’t help but think that they needed a better euphemism.

“And you must be Mr. Winner,” Joline said, turning to face the man of their segment. The kind smile he gave her made her heart beat a little faster and she hoped her blush wasn’t noticeable. He was taller up close. More attractive too. That suit on him was delicious in every way imaginable.

She held out her hand. “I am,” he said, taking her hand in a firm shake. Up close and face to face with another person, his anxiety seemed to melt away. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re glad you could make the show,” she said as she disengaged from Mr. Winner and indicated that they should follow her. “The show starts in half an hour. As I’m sure Ms. McAllister has told you, you aren’t on air for the whole segment, just the last half, so you have plenty of time to get ready.” She led them to the elevators and everyone piled in. She hit the fifth-floor button and the elevator glided upward.

“What’s on floors two through four?” Mr. Winner asked with curiosity. She smiled.

“The newspaper division. Their printing press is in the basement. Floors five and six are our production units. Six and seven are the executive suites.”

“You’re quite the one stop, shop aren’t you?” came a snarky response from Mystery Guy, Mr. Barton. That name sounded familiar to her. She knew it from somewhere. She knew she did.

The elevator reached its destination and opened. Stepping out into the hallway she led the group down the hall. A friendly-faced man in his mid-forties approached them. Joline stepped to the side. “Everyone, this is Corey Booker. He’s the show’s producer.”

Another round of introductions was made. Mr. Booker smiled at everyone before settling his eyes on Mr. Winner. “We’re excited to have you here,” he said.

“Thanks for having us,” Mr. Winner replied. He once again looked nervous. His shoulders looked tight and his smile wasn’t entirely convincing. She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed either.

“It’ll be fine,” Mr. Booker reassured their special guest. “This is a morning show. We peddle in soft news and fluff pieces. We don’t do hard news. You didn’t kill anyone on your way over, did you?” he asked.

The look her boss got from Mr. Winner was a rather comical mix between confusion and disbelief. “No.”

Mr. Booker laughed, like the friendly uncle who was always making jokes. “Then you’ll be fine.” The men in the Winner group all looked at each other with hesitation. “We’re about to start the show soon. Your people can come with me into the production room and you can follow Joline, who will take you to hair and makeup.”

“Is that really necessary?” Mr. Winner asked with uncertainty.

“Everyone does,” Joline replied with a warm smile. “You’re in good company.” What she really wanted to say was _suck it up, handsome_ , but that wouldn’t be professional.

With that the party split. Mr. Booker took Mr. Winner’s entourage with him straight ahead, while she led her charge down the hall and around the corner. The small room they entered had a small handful of makeup stations. A twenty-something young woman stood to the side, waiting to get to work.

The newly minted CEO glanced at her hesitantly. _Stubborn guy_ , she thought. She hadn’t yet met one that hadn’t been embarrassed to partake in such a feminine ritual that hair and makeup represented. She leaned against the wall near the door and motioned with her hand to take a seat.

He shot her one last look that clearly said “if I have to” and sat down. His fingers immediately began tapping the leather armrest incessantly. Poor guy really was nervous. Her boss had mentioned something about him having an anxiety disorder of some kind. His PR rep had given them the heads up about it. Joline had figured it had been mentioned just in case he had a panic attack on air or something.

The production managers and Celine Thomas, the show anchor and managing editor, had all promised McAllister that they wouldn’t use that information during the show. Like Mr. Booker had said, they were a morning show. They did fluff pieces. And anyway, an anxiety disorder is private, newsworthy.

Holding her memo book to her chest, she dipped her face, trying to see around the makeup artist as she worked. “You look like you’re about to crawl out of your skin,” she said conversationally, trying to keep her tone light.

“I have a nervous disorder.”

“I see that,” she replied mildly. “From anything in particular?”

“Does it need to be?” he asked as he glanced at her. “I thought it was a basic requirement for being a spoiled rich kid.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Would you like me to get you anything? Water or soda… Something stronger, maybe?”

Mr. Winner huffed a laugh, which boded well. “I don’t drink, but thanks. Doesn’t go well with the Xanax either. I’m rather attached to my liver.”

“It can grow back.”

“Not if the whole thing is trashed,” he bantered back.

Joline shrugged. “You can buy a new one then. The black market’s done a pretty good job of making sure their patients don’t die anymore.”

He turned his head in her direction so he could see her fully as the makeup artist went to work on the other side. “You like to argue, don’t you? Is that why you want to be a reporter?”

“I believe in the truth,” she replied. “Why was your boyfriend introduced as just a friend?” The words spilled out before she could even think to stop them. He wore the surprise on his face well, though. Those pretty blue eyes of his widened immediately as the weight of her question settled upon him. Gauging his reaction, she knew she had him on that one.

Mr. Winner stopped his nervous fidgeting and rested both elbows on the arms rests of his chair, tenting his hands in front of his face. A defensive and contemplative gesture. The sharp look in his eyes indicated that he was considering his options, wondering just how much he should tell her. Joline wondered if McAllister had prepped him for this possibility.

He sat there for a long while, considering her. Amazingly, he didn’t seem to be upset, but rather curious. “Why does it matter?” he asked finally.

“Because you’re already a CEO,” she said emphatically with a wave of her hand. “You could be a positive role model for thousands, if not millions, of young people who struggle with their sexuality and with society’s preconceived gender roles. I wouldn’t think that the corporate “boys club” attitude would matter to you yet. You’re not even out of high school.”

“You’re an idealist,” he said with a genuine smile. “Not surprising.” He shifted in his seat and took a more serious tone. “Look, I’m not closeted. Never have, never will, but I’m not a glory hound either. I rather like the idea of keeping my private life, private.”

Joline crossed her arms and settled him with a hard stare. “Doesn’t explain the introduction.”

Mr. Winner leaned back in his chair. The twinkle was back in his eyes and he was smiling again. The guy looked thoroughly amused. “You’re hard to impress, you know that,” he said with a flippant motion of his hand in her direction.

She shrugged. “It was a weak answer.”

They stared at each other for several heartbeats as Mr. Winner once again looked to consider his options. “Can we have the room, please?” he asked, looking up to the makeup artist, who in turn looked to her.

“Is he done?” she asked, checking her watch. They only had a few more minutes before she’d have to walk him to the set.

“Yeah, he’s good.” The lady said with hesitation.

“Then let us have the room, please.”

The woman set her tools down and left the room with a curious glance over her shoulder. Joline closed the door after her and leaned against it. Mr. Winner had also gotten up out of his seat, perching himself against the dressing room counter. Both hands rested in his pockets and he looked like the kid dangling a biscuit in front of a starving dog. “Off the record.”

“Of cour…” _Wait, what?_ She squinted her eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“I know the rules of this game,” he said. “What I’m about to say needs to stay off the record or you’re not going to get a satisfactory answer to your question.”

Joline wondered what could possibly be important enough regarding a boyfriend for him to call the answer off the record. “I’m really not interested in any kinky stories,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

Mr. Winner laughed at that. Threw his head back and truly laughed. “If only that were it,” he replied as his laughter died down. “You don’t need to worry about that. We’re actually quite boring.”

Joline closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with a fingertip. “I really didn’t need to know that either, but fine. Off the record,” she said as she fixed her eyes back on the Winner Corporation’s young CEO. “What is it?”

“It’s his job.” Mr. Winner replied simply with a shrug.

 _Really, that’s it_ , she asked herself disappointedly.

“His job is...sensitive,” he elaborated, choosing his words carefully. “Being gay isn’t the issue. Nor is being in a relationship. But being in a relationship with _me_ , who is now the interest of the world media, is a potential problem.”

Now _that_ piqued her interest. This was definitely worth being off the record for. “What’s his job?”

Mr. Winner shook his head with a coy smile. “Doesn’t matter. Not right now anyway, but that’s the reason he was introduced as a friend.”

Joline did well to hide the smile that threatened to bust across her face. So, the young CEO has a boyfriend with a secret job. Must be covert. Undercover cop, or intelligence, or something. She filed the information away in her head.

“Thanks for telling me that,” she said. God knew he certainly didn’t have to. He’d taken a gamble that she wouldn’t break her word.

“You believe in truth,” he replied with a kind smile. “So do I.” In that moment she got the distinct impression that he had more age on her than his eighteen years suggested.

______________________________________________________________________

A knock on the door caused the woman in front of him to startle slightly. She looked at her wrist watch. “It’s time to go,” she said as she stood up straight. She looked him over carefully before appearing to deem him fit for TV. She opened the door and he dutifully followed, placing his hands in his pockets. “You don’t seem nervous anymore,” she said casually as they walked.

“I guess we both got something out of that then,” he replied casually. She looked over her shoulder and they shared a smirk before she opened the door to the set. He thanked her quietly as he walked in. And stopped.

The adrenalin high he’d gotten off sparring with Joline dissipated immediately as he remembered what he was doing here. Taking part in highly dangerous missions with low chances of survival hadn’t been a problem, but being on live TV, talking about himself… He felt his heart begin to race and suddenly wished he’d taken an extra Xanax while he’d had the chance.

The blonde haired lady sitting in a chair waved him over with a smile. He took a deep breath and joined her, taking the chair next to her. It was deceptively soft and comfortable. She reached over and shook his hand while one of the assistant producers attached a small microphone on his shirt. “Hey, I’m Celine, nice to meet you.”

“Quatre,” he replied. “But you knew that.” She laughed.

“We’ve got about a minute before we come back from commercial, but don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” he replied. He couldn’t help but look about the set, at all the cameras and production crew that were in front of them. “But you realize that there’s zero evidence to back that up, right?” he asked, glancing back at her.

Celine laughed again. “McAllister said you were smart. Now, the lights can be pretty bright, so just focus on me when you say anything and you won’t get blinded, okay.”

“Okay,” he replied and looked through the glass wall that separated him from Rashid and Trowa. He silently prayed for any reason to present itself that would keep him from doing this interview. One of the cameramen started counting down from ten on his fingers. Didn’t look like he was getting out of this. Deep breath.

At the five second marker, he saw Joline pass Booker a piece of paper. Celine looked into the camera and smiled.

“Welcome back to The Morning Edition. I’m Celine Thomas and with me here today is business’ youngest CEO, Quatre Raberba Winner. He is the son of Zayeed...”

 _Oh shit_ , he thought. He felt like jumping out of his skin and he had to fight the urge to fidget. Marney had specifically told him not to fidget, but what else was he supposed to do? He wanted to bolt. Wanted to run out of this whole building and back to the safe confines of his room at the family’s mansion.

This is not where he was supposed to be. Father wouldn’t approve of this type of showboating. Their business was about the work, not the family, and certainly not him. Except with the new marketing plan, the business was about him. He’d really gotten himself stuck with that one. He sent up another silent prayer, this time just praying to keep himself together in order to get through this bad idea.

“...Welcome to the show Quatre.” he blinked several times before her words sunk in.

“Thanks for having me,” he replied with less conviction than he’d wanted. He had to force himself to breathe evenly. _Just focus on Celine_ , he told himself.

“First of all, I would like to offer you our condolences at losing your father at such a young age...”

He closed his eyes. He knew it had been coming. Marney had prepared him for it as best she could, but it still threatened to pull him down like a weight. He hadn’t gotten along with his father. They’d disagreed about everything. His father had been furious when he’d learned that his son had disobeyed a direct order and become a Gundam pilot.

“...how you’ve handled it?”

He opened his eyes quickly, realizing he’d probably been wrapped up in his memories too long. He really wasn’t sure what the question was, but decided to take a stab in the dark and hoped he hit in the ballpark.

“What happened was quite a shock,” he admitted. “I hadn’t been aware that the colony’s opinion of him had degraded that much.” All true. He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t legally allowed to run the company until I turned eighteen, so my sisters took care of the business and I’ve been able to focus on school.”

Celine appeared to take the answer in stride, so he must have guessed correctly. “But you weren’t on the colony when it happened?”

“No,” he replied automatically. Lie. He’d been there. Iria too. They’d tried to talk sense into him, but he was stubborn and refused to escape the natural resource satellite. The colony had fired upon the pile of space matter, killing his father, and almost destroying their own shuttle. Iria had been badly hurt in the incident. It had taken her months of physical therapy before she managed to fully recover. “I was on Earth at the time, at a friend of the family’s.”

“Why were you there?”

“Father had sent me down when tensions between himself and the people on the colony began to heat up and with the increased pressure on the people by the Alliance, he thought it prudent to send me to Earth, where conflict might be more easily avoided.”

“What’s your happiest memory of him?” she asked.

 _Shit_ , he thought. _Are you serious?_ This was supposed to be easy and about the company. It wasn’t supposed to be about his father. There was a reason he didn’t talk about his father. His heart started to race again as memories came flooding back.

Two and a half years ago, during the war, he and Iria argued with their father as the colony prepared to fire on him. He could see the bright yellow flash of light as it narrowly missed their space shuttle. He could feel the explosion rock the spacecraft and he remembered Iria protecting him as he was knocked backward. She’s gotten hurt because of him.

He was twelve and arguing with Father about the merits and shortcomings of a totally pacifistic resistance. Of course, they’d disagreed and Father had forbidden him to work with Instructor W. Equally as stubborn, he’d disobeyed and begun training as a Gundam pilot.

He was eight. Father had come home early for once. He couldn’t remember if there had been any specific reason he was so happy to see him, but he grabbed a hold of his father’s arm and laughed. He could hear one of his sisters laughing and taking pictures in the distance.

______________________________________________________________________

Trowa leaned against the back wall and out of the way of the production crew. Arms crossed and a neutral expression painted on his face. Most people avoided coming near him, which was fine by him. He’d thought this was a bad idea in the first place. He didn’t want Quatre in front of those cameras to the same extent as Quatre didn’t want to be up there. He knew Quatre wasn’t ready for it, despite Marney’s argument to the contrary.

He’d come along for moral support and Quatre had told him in no uncertain terms to keep his snarky comments to himself. The last thing he’d wanted was for Trowa to display a lack of unity within their group. Like a good boyfriend should, he’d promised to behave himself.

He was getting restless though. They were asking a lot of questions about Quatre and his dad. It was a topic Quatre was loathed to talk about on any given day and for him to be pushed on the matter...He didn’t think it healthy, what with Quatre having only been in therapy for a couple of months. That and the cycles of trial-and-error that always accompanied the discovery of appropriate medication dosages.

Trowa could tell Quatre was having a difficult time focusing, staying present. His PTSD medication wasn’t working like it had been up until now. Apparently, the stress and the reminders were just too strong. He was afraid Quatre was going to go down the rabbit hole and not be able to come back.

And then the anchor asked the memory question.

“This is supposed to be about him taking control of the family business as a young CEO, not a televised therapy session,” he warned the producer. Booker, Marney, and Rashid all looked back at him. Marney shot him a warning glare, while Rashid gave him a look that said he was also concerned about the current focus of the interview. Quatre might be eighteen and able to make his legal decision, and Rashid was still a father figure to him, but Marney was the person controlling this interview.

“It’s endearing him to the public, especially one that allowed Zayeed Winner’s death. We have to right the ship. The public _needs_ to know he’s not his father.” Marney snapped back. Her tone was filled with conviction and the stare she laid him with was that of someone who expected their orders to be obeyed.

“His father has a lot to do with the situation he’s in,” Booker added in an attempt at explanation. The guy seemed rather uncomfortable with an argument breaking out in his production booth.

“We prepped him for this,” Marney continued. Her voice had softened, even if her decision not to stop the interview had stayed the same. “We all knew this wouldn’t be an easy topic for him, but he’ll be fine. This part is almost over.”

“You really think he looks fine,” he asked with obvious sarcasm. He was angry and it was showing, but he didn’t care.

“Honestly, I can’t remember,” Quatre’s soft voice said over the speakers. “There’s a picture of us when I was eight maybe, but I don’t really remember it. I don’t know when it started, but we didn’t get along all that well.”

Trowa returned to watching Quatre carefully. It was still an obviously difficult topic for him, but he didn’t look as lost as he had mere moments ago. “Why not?’ Celine asked carefully. _At least she has the good sense to look like she feels bad for asking the question_ , he thought ruefully. Booker spoke into his headset telling Celine to take a look at her tablet, which she did.

Quatre shrugged. “We disagreed about everything. I don’t know if that’s normal or not, but he always seemed to be harder on me than my sisters, but I’ll be the first to admit that might be a biased perspective.”

Celine looked away from Quatre and towards the production booth. Booker nodded. Celine looked back at Quatre. “I understand that this might be a difficult subject to talk about, but do you think the tension you and your father had was influenced by the fact that you’re gay?”

The production booth exploded with indignation and shock from himself, Rashid, and even Marney. “What the hell, Booker?” Marney asked angrily. “Who’s ass did you pull that out of?”

Booker held up a hand and stood his ground, though his voice was defensive. “We have a very reliable source that says he’s not closeted, so we're not outing him. The question is pertinent.”

“Who?” Marney demanded.

“Mr. Winner himself.”

Everyone looked back at him through the glass wall. Even he looked shocked. If he truly had told one of their reporters that he was an uncloseted gay man, he obviously hadn’t expected them to use that information.

“What?” Quatre asked, looking positively stunned.

“Are you religious?” she asked.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything…” Quatre replied, obviously confused at the new line of questioning.

“Your father was well known to be a secular Muslim,” Celine explained. They were already in hot water, might as well drive it home and make it count. “But is it possible that your sexuality and his religious views clashed and caused some tension?”

Inside the production booth, even Rashid was getting angry. “This isn’t trash drama TV,” Rashid growled in disapproval. “What exactly are you trying to do here?”

“Just be patient,” Booker said. “We’ll get the ratings and your kid will come out on top.” He looked over at Marney who eventually nodded her approval. No one was pulling Quatre out yet.

“I don’t know,” Quatre responded to Celine’s question with plenty of bite. “He died before it could even be brought up.” Trowa smirked as Quatre leveled a stern expression on her. Quatre seemed to have finally gotten his legs underneath him. He was in fight mode now.

“If you two fought so much, why did you agree to take over the company?”

“I never thought about not,” he replied firmly. “The company has a responsibility to the people of the colony and I’m going to make sure it acts accordingly.”

“You’re branching out with the types of services WEI provides by starting an R&D department, is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Do you think your father would approve of the direction you’re taking the company?”

Trowa silently took a deep breath, Quatre didn’t look at all pleased with where these questions were going. “He’s dead, so he no longer has an opinion,” he replied flatly.

The production room was quiet, except for a lone editor who let slip a surprised “shit”.

From there Celine began to change track, asking him about his future plans for the company and how it would be managed while he’s away at college, followed by a discussion about his potential choices and why he wanted to continue his education on Earth rather than on his home colony.

Though obviously still displeased with Celine, the rest of Quatre’s answers read like a proper PR textbook. It appeared that once off the subject of his father, he was much more in control of his emotions. The end of the show couldn’t come fast enough and Quatre was quick to exit the set as soon as he was able, looking like he was about ready to have a panic attack.

Rashid left the production room first. Trowa moved to follow. “I hope you got what you wanted from that,” he told her sourly before exiting the room.

He found Quatre down the hall a ways. Rashid was at his shoulder, trying to help calm his nerves. He was visibly shaking. It looked like the only thing keeping him upright was Rashid’s hand on his elbow and the wall he was leaning against. Throwing caution to the wind, he reached for Quatre’s hand. He needed to hold him, offer him strength.

At that moment, Joline walked by on her way to do some task or other. She slowed down as she passed, trying to stay quiet and unobtrusive. “You’ve got good aim,” Quatre called after her between shaky breaths. Trowa had to give him credit. He sounded stronger than he looked at the moment. They watched as her steps faltered, but she kept her head high and didn’t stop walking.

“It was a low blow,” Rashid rumbled angrily.

“But still fair game,” Quatre responded mildly. His indignation had melted away, leaving him with relief and exhaustion. Quatre looked up at him and Rashid. “What have I gotten myself into?” he asked them worriedly. Trowa wished he had an answer.


	2. Chapter 1

**February, 207**

Quatre sat on the bench directly outside of The Nest. One leg casually draped over the other. He watched quietly as couples and larger groups of five or more came in and out of the doorway that, once past the ID checker, led upstairs to one of the most frequented college party bars in town.

His breath blew out plumes of cold air from over his MIT scarf. A Christmas gift from Rashid during his first year at the ivy league school. The gray wool fabric with the black and red MIT logo frayed at odd ends, showing its age and frequent use. A matching knit hat covered his ears and shoved his long bangs over his eyes.

Quatre huddled deeper into his beige down overcoat. His leather gloved hands were firmly shoved to the bottom of his pockets. Even in late February, it was bloody cold in Boston. Thomas had left him to sit out here alone while he had gone back inside to find their errant friend, Jackson.

Jackson, an MIT undergrad, was Thomas’ roommate and enjoyed going out to the bars. A little too much, in Quatre’s estimation. Attractive, charismatic, boisterous, and fun, Jackson always commanded attention in public. He liked to drink and dance with anything that had a pulse, which made pulling him away from a good bar like The Nest difficult under most circumstances.

Today was his 21st birthday.

Quatre had told Thomas to go with God before his stalwart companion went back inside to pry their drunk friend away from the alcohol for the umpteenth time. It had already been five minutes. _Let Thomas give him an earful,_ Quatre thought to himself as he waited. He was not about to go back in there.

Too many people pressed up against each other like sardines in dark, potentially dangerous corners of an already loud room, dancing to music with the same beat and poor lyric quality. Nope. Quatre had been a good enough sport earlier in the night, but at 1 a.m. he’d had his fill of half naked girls, and more than a few guys, grinding on him.

So here he waited. Staring intently at the door to a bar, praying to see two familiar faces make an appearance so they could all go home and get some sleep.

The torso of a tall man with a messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, holding two tall coffee cups suddenly blocked his view. Black three in one insulated coat. Form fitting, but warm. Durable against rain and snow. Economic and practical. Certainly more flexible to sudden weather changes than Quatre’s fancier down overcoat. He blinked repeatedly for a moment before looking up to see who it was since the coffee mugs and coat hadn’t removed themselves from his line of sight as he had expected.

Quatre’s heart caught in his throat when he saw who it was. “Trowa!” His exclamation was followed by an infectious smile. His friend, comrade in arms, and the ex-boyfriend was not who he expected to see in this town. The unexpected surprise elated him.

______________________________________________________________________

Trowa smiled down at the ever dashing multi-millionaire and soon to be MIT doctoral graduate. At twenty-seven the young blonde aristocrat would graduate in a few months with a doctorate in Engineering to accompany his dual Business and Engineering Master degrees from the second best business school in the world.

A year older than Quatre, at six foot two, brown hair, green eyes, and hardly an ounce of body fat on him, Trowa cut a handsome figure himself. His hair naturally fell forward, shading a good portion of the right side of his face. He’d given up trying to change it ages ago.

With a black gloved hand, Trowa offered the blonde one of the steaming plastic cups. His friend took the cup eagerly with a soft, grateful “Yes.” The tall brunette dropped his bag against Quatre’s left side and took a seat without waiting for an invitation. Watching the blonde from the corner of his eye, he saw him crinkle his nose in disgust as he handed the cup back.

 _Whoops_ , he thought with mild amusement. _Wrong one._ They switched cups silently. It was a motion they had performed many times before. Quatre’s eyes fluttered closed as the scorching hot chocolate hit his tongue and warmed his belly. Trowa knew him so well.

“Have I told you often enough how amazing your timing is?” Quatre's voice was music to his ears.

A chuckle rolled out of him. He felt a shiver run through Quatre as they sat shoulder to shoulder. He doubted it had anything to do with the cold. “I figured you’d appreciate it,” he said in response. He sipped his own black coffee, staring at the door his blonde friend had been so interested in. “Does it do a trick?” he asked.

Quatre gave him a confused look. “What?”

With his coffee hand, Trowa motioned the door to the club. “The door. You were staring at it like it might catch on fire.”

Quatre smiled and laughed. Joyous and carefree. The sound pulled at his heart.

“No,” Quatre replied before taking another sip of hot chocolate. “Thomas just went to go fetch Jackson.”

“Good luck with that,” Trowa muttered before taking a long draw from his own plastic cup.

“That’s what I said,” Quatre said with a huff.  
__________________________________________________________________

Quatre sipped at his hot chocolate slowly, savoring the warmth its sweet deliciousness provided. Trowa had even gotten it extra hot so it would last longer.

He chanced a look at him from the corner of his eye. Tall, masculine, breathtakingly handsome. The former Gundam pilot turned Preventer looked the same as he always did, even if they hadn’t seen each other in almost eight months. It wasn’t anyone’s fault really. Trowa went where Preventer sent him.

It was one of the many contributing factors as to why they had split.

They’d been together for four and a half years. Quatre was finishing his Bachelor’s degree. Balancing school work, his duties for his family’s mining and technology company, Winner Enterprises Incorporated, and an often long distance relationship with Trowa had been difficult, to say the least.

Trowa had been hired by the peacekeeping force Preventer with experience which essentially fast-tracked the former soldier past most of the beginner’s stuff. He had joined immediately after Quatre had been critically injured during the Eurussian Conflict in A.C. 197, but had taken a three-month leave of absence in order to help him work through the PTSD he’d developed following the incident. Five months after initially joining, Trowa had been partnered up and sent off on missions of varying threat levels and durations.

Quatre handled it as best he could and for almost five years they made it work, but eventually, he'd burned himself out and his work had started to slip. In school. In matters pertaining to WEI. Even their relationship had begun to degrade.

Trowa had been the one to do it. God knew he didn’t have it in him. It happened right before a long weekend. He was going to be traveling up to the space colony in the afternoon to handle some company matters in person. After morning classes he had arrived at their apartment to pick up his travel bags before going to the spaceport. He hadn’t expected Trowa to be home.

He had thought it a pleasant surprise at first. Until Trowa started talking.

It had been painful for both of them. Tears had fallen on both sides. Even then they both had known it was the right thing to do. It just didn’t help the heartache heal any faster.

The breakup had turned him into an emotional wreck. For several months almost everything had reminded him in some way of Trowa or the other Gundam pilots, which in turn made him think of Trowa. Even Danny, the collie dog they had picked out together and trained to help him with his PTSD reminded him of Trowa. It had taken several months and a lot of sessions with Dr. Farlan, his trauma therapist before Quatre had been able to fully pull himself together.

Many prolonged and teary-eyed phone calls had been made to both Rashid, his legal guardian and father-figure, and best friend Duo who also lived on another space colony. Thomas had physically been there for him though. When he really needed someone to simply be there with him, aside from Danny Dog. Good Ol’ Thomas had never let him down.

Quatre had never before been so grateful that his closest friend from high school had also decided to attend MIT.

A year and a half after the breakup had found the two of them dating. It had been nice, having a romantic relationship with both parties consistently in the same city, but eventually, they came to the realization that they worked better as friends rather than lovers. Their friendship had held and it was uncommon to see one without the other both on and off campus.

Quatre and Trowa had also managed to stay friends, almost surprisingly. Trowa had pointedly avoided him for several months following their split, though the blonde knew full well that he and Rashid traded calls on a semi-regular basis.

The first time they had seen each other since the split had been at a Christmas party Quatre had hosted on his home space colony a couple years ago. He had been mildly surprised that Trowa had actually shown up. All the other Gundam pilots had been there, so it would have been conspicuous if he hadn’t made an appearance. In spite of everything, Quatre had been glad to see him.

Of course, Trowa had found out about Thomas eventually and despite a hint of jealousy, he had seemed supportive of Quatre’s new relationship. Trowa got along with Thomas well enough, having met him during high school and periodically over the years, though Quatre had always thought there had been a delighted look in his eye when, after his split with Thomas, he had told him that they had decided to just be friends.

Two years later and here they were.

Quatre was pulled out of his memories when the door to The Nest flew open, causing lanky Thomas and an overly intoxicated Jackson to come very close to falling face first onto the frosted sidewalk.

______________________________________________________________________

“Well I never did see such a sorry sight as this,” Quatre exclaimed breathlessly in a rather impressive imitation of a southern belle from behind his hot chocolate.

Trowa couldn’t stop himself from snorting into his now barely warm coffee. He really hadn’t expected that. He half-turned to regard his friend. The blonde wasn’t paying him any attention. Instead, he met Thomas’ annoyed expression with a devilishly handsome smirk of his own. Still peeking out from behind his cup, the corner of his eye crinkled in silent laughter and his eyes sparkled.

The sight of him, all grown up, full of confidence, laughter, and snark robbed Trowa of his breath. Damn the man was gorgeous. The pressure in his chest tightened.

“Next time you can get him out,” Thomas answered testily. Pulling a giggling Jackson upright by the scruff of his coat. Just a hair over six feet with short, curly black hair, dark brown eyes, a long sharply chiseled face and a pointed nose, Thomas would also be considered handsome by most. Even Trowa thought so, though the guy did nothing to turn him on. Quatre certainly had a type though, that was for sure.

Jackson, on the other hand, was of average height, though his modelesque features and athletically toned body made up for it. His sandy brown hair stood up at all ends as if he’d just rolled out of bed or just had sex...or both. Unfocused hazel eyes looked at Quatre while tears of laughter streamed down his cheeks.

Trowa watched the scene with a mixture of amusement and irritation. He had never understood the point of getting so strung out like that. It wasn’t safe and at a certain point became embarrassing. Like right now.

Quatre’s eyes regarded Jackson critically as Thomas fought to keep the guy from falling over. “Is he high?”

“Probably,” Thomas grunted, trying to coax the drunkard toward them. Within a stride from the bench, Thomas noticed Trowa. “Oh. Hi man,” he said, offering him his right hand as he leaned over Jackson’s doubled-over form.

With a slight smile, Trowa put his coffee in his left hand and grasped it in a proper crisp handshake with his right. “Looks like you have your hands full.”

Thomas rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Kids these days.” A moment later Thomas had Jackson sitting on the bench to Quatre’s right. “Keep an eye on him will you, while I get us a cab.” He waited a moment to make sure Jackson was going to stay put before heading off a ways.

Trowa shook his head as Quatre was forced to try and convince Drunky not to go wandering off. More than once the blonde had to grab the guy’s coat and pull him back down to the bench.

“You need some duct tape,” Trowa said in amusement. The line got him an annoyed glare from those pretty blue eyes. Trowa smiled back as he took another sip of his now definitely cold coffee.

Quatre’s eyes flicked down to the bag that sat between them. A look of triumph crossed his features right before snatching the large carabiner that hung on the side. Trowa always had one hanging on his bags. In a swift motion, he had successfully attached it to both the bench and Jackson’s belt.

Quatre settled back against the bench comfortably, much as he had when Trowa had walked up. He sipped his drink. A trio of pretty ladies walked past, immediately catching Jackson’s inebriated attention. The guy tried to get up, but the carabiner held him in place. He dropped back onto the bench in a fit of giggles.

Sitting on the bench together, with nothing but a messenger bag between them, they shared a congratulatory cup tap.

Trowa glanced back at Quatre, a satisfied smirk tipped his face as Jackson asked why he couldn’t get up. Apparently feeling eyes on him, Quatre looked back at Trowa, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. The humor he found there made his own heart sing.  
_______________________________________________________________________

The hilarity of Jackson trying unsuccessfully to leave the bench eventually lost its distracting features. Quatre’s heart began to ache in his chest sitting there with Trowa, waiting for Thomas to return.

Yes, over time the pain had been reduced to a dull ache, but his heart always hurt just a little more when Trowa was physically around. Admittedly, he was still madly in love with him.

Thomas jogged up. “I got a cab.”

They both stood up and threw away their cups before Quatre unfastened Jackson’s makeshift leash. Trowa placed it back on his messenger bag before helping Thomas shove Mr. 21 into the back seat. Thomas stood on the sidewalk, facing him and Trowa, who stood at his side. “Thanks for that. You guys need a ride?”

Quatre shook his head. Thomas knew he lived in the other direction. “I’ve got a rental,” Trowa responded politely. A shiver traveled down his spine. _I really need to stop having that reaction when he says such perfectly normal things_ , he thought in aggravation.

“Alright, well...Have a good night then.”

“Text me when you get home,” he called after them as Thomas opened the door and snuck in the cab before Jackson had a chance for escape. A wave of the hand was all the confirmation Quatre received to indicate he had been heard.

He felt Trowa’s shoulder graze against his as they watched the cab drive away. Quatre’s nerves sparked. “They together?” Trowa asked with faint curiosity.

“Roommates. He’s not Thomas’ type in any case,” he replied distractedly. He needed to focus and not on Trowa’s warm body next to his.

“Need a ride home?”

Quatre thought about that question. Trowa had a motorcycle...and a car. Why would he need a rental? “Why do you have a rental?” he asked, looking up into Trowa’s mesmerizing emerald eyes. Topping out at five ten, Quatre wasn’t small anymore, but he never got tired of looking up into Trowa’s eyes.

“They’re in storage,” he replied. “The apartment’s being subleased at the moment. We were expecting to be on the road for another month.”

Quatre vaguely remembered hearing something about a large sporting event being in town this weekend. Great. _The odds of him getting a last minute hotel that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg are slim._ He sighed inwardly. Guess it couldn't be helped.

Turning his attention to the traffic he quipped, “I can get you a good deal on a nice place.” He managed to put more humor in his voice than he truly had. Wherever Trowa had parked, they were going to have to make a run for it soon. It also helped him avoid looking into those eyes again. He'd never been able to pull much over Trowa and he was afraid he might just turn into a sappy mess in front of his ex. Call him proud but he wanted to avoid that scenario at all costs.

___________________________________________________________________________

Trowa looked down at Quatre. His long bangs stuck out from underneath his warm hat in the most endearing way. _Quatre never wears hats except in winter_ , he mused.

Trowa could feel the tension in his friend's body building. The space between them was thick with history. Memories of what they had been to each other in the past. What they were to each other now. And what Quatre so obviously wanted again.

Trowa regretted putting the young CEO in the position he had. He knew his presence complicated things for the guy. He was a distraction. And a heartache.

It's why he stayed away so much, despite being stationed in town. He had kept himself busy enough with voluntary assignments that he hardly used his apartment. Eventually, he’d started subleasing the place while he was on long missions, and living out of hotel rooms if a mission ended sooner than expected. It might sound complicated, but it was far easier than settling down again, though there were downsides to his lifestyle. Like this.

Leaving Quatre had been the right thing to do at the time. It was the hardest thing he'd had to do in his life, but the blonde had stretched himself too thin. He'd found out the hard way he wasn't immune to workload burnout. His responsibilities at school and work were nonnegotiable. The only area to drop had been his love life. But stubborn Quatre had refused to let that go either. So Trowa had made the decision his lover couldn't. He'd been packed and out of the house before Quatre had returned from his business trip.

The pain had been worse than he had expected. His nerves had gone ballistic. For several months he was irritable, quarrelsome, and sulky. He had isolated himself emotionally more so than he had in a long time. Cathy, his self-proclaimed adopted sister, along with the other three Gundam pilots and his assignment partner had worried about him.

He knew his now-ex had handled it just as badly, if not worse. Rashid had told him Quatre had started seeing Dr. Farlan more frequently. That information had sent knives through his gut. Quatre had worked so hard over the years to manage the PTSD to the point where it very rarely affected him. The dog and the medications helped, but most of it had been a lot of mental legwork on Quatre's end.

Knowing he had caused enough damage to send the man he loved back to therapy on a frequent basis had hurt like nothing else had. He had never quite shaken the guilt he carried over it either. Rashid had tried to ease the blow, on both sides. Once he’d heard of the breakup, the hulk of a man had expected the fallout to be rough. The man was exceedingly perceptive, especially when it came to his honorary “Master”.

Apparently, Quatre had some depression issues in his early teens, along with a not-so-healthy dose of daddy issues. He had avoided discussing most anything having to do with his father when they had been together, so the information had come as a surprise to Trowa, though in retrospect it explained a lot. The past depression coupled with his psychotic break during the war in 195 in which he destroyed both a natural resource satellite and a colony, the residual trauma from getting shot during the Eurussian Conflict two years later, and his sensitive nature seemed to predispose the guy to needing a good therapist.

Trowa had come to the conclusion that Quatre was just too damn kind. He gave too much of himself to others.

He gently set a curled finger underneath the blonde’s chin with his hand, coaxing Quatre to meet his eyes. He heard his breath catch. Felt his pulse quicken beneath his gloved finger. Wide, uncertain blue eyes met his.

“You don’t have to, Quatre,” he said softly, staring deep into those bright eyes. “I’m fine as I am. I only stopped over earlier to say hello.”

“Do you think I _wouldn’t_ offer,” came a mildly irritated reply. Quatre’s eyes changed from wide and uncertain to critical and piercing. Trowa suddenly felt guilty for even mentioning the apartment. This was decidedly not the direction he intended this conversation to go. “We’re friends, Trowa. You don’t have to get a hotel room when I have plenty of space.” Quatre went on with a huff. “I’m not trying to proposition you.”

That elicited a chuckle from him. The kind that rolled out from the belly and carried a hint of desire. His eyes sparkled in delight as he felt Quatre’s pulse flutter beneath his fingers. As selfish as it might be, he enjoyed knowing he still had an effect on the commanding blonde businessman.

Despite the indignation, Quatre hadn’t removed his chin from Trowa’s grasp. It was a good sign. Riled up Quatre had always been a fun Quatre.

Before he could stop himself, he stepped in close, pressing himself right up against his former lover. He tenderly ran his thumb along the blonde’s jaw. As a surprised expression crossed Quatre’s face, Trowa dipped his mouth next to his ear and whispered. “Are you sure?”

It had the desired effect.

Quatre’s legs became weak, causing him to lean into Trowa’s muscular frame for support. A rather lovely blush had crept up from beneath his scarf and the look in his eyes had softened again. His breath hitched, sending a spark of excitement through his body and settled between his hips.

“Trowa…”

This time it was he who shuddered. The sound of Quatre’s voice, breathless and so full of desire, made his nerves stand on end. It reminded him of a time that seemed so long ago when they had only just begun to discover each other. Before things had gotten complicated.

Realization of the road he was about to take them down brought his mind back into focus. They’d gotten involved before and the result had been disastrous. For Quatre especially and it had all been his fault. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him again, which was exactly what would likely happen if they kept this up and Quatre was much too sincere and too much of a romantic to be okay with a one night stand.

But God, did he want Quatre back. Living without him the last several years had been utterly miserable, though not always lonely. It had felt like half of him had been missing. The times they had seen each other since that day five years ago had made him feel complete again.

Quatre was getting ready to graduate though. His responsibilities wouldn’t be as stretched. Trowa didn’t have to take on so many optional assignments. His partner would certainly appreciate finally having him around the office again. Maybe after graduation, they could try again.

Trowa took a steadying breath. That thinking still wasn’t helpful. Graduation wasn’t tonight and he knew Quatre was involved in more than one demanding project, both scholastic and professional. That thesis of his wasn’t anything to sneeze at either.

He let his hand fall away and took a step back. Distance would do them a bit of good right now. The regret he saw in Quatre’s eyes was unmistakable. There was no doubting the emotions he saw there.

He should walk away. He hadn’t lied. He hadn’t intended to stay.

While stopping for a quick cup of coffee, he had noticed him huddled on a bench, staring at seemingly nothing. Walking away without saying hello hadn’t even crossed his mind and it was pretty cold to just be sitting outside all alone. Hence the hot chocolate.

But if Quatre wanted what he wanted… A night together would carry the suggestion of future possibilities. But would that really be such a bad thing? He knew his answer.

“What do you want Quatre?” he asked softly as his eyes searched those of his former lover. He prayed to hear the answer he so foolishly hoped for.

“I thought that would be obvious,” came a soft reply.

Talented, honest, beautiful Quatre stood before him. Everything about him from the warm look in his eyes to the playful smile that tugged at his lips, and the almost imperceptible lean in his direction spoke of an open invitation.

“I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

_____________________________________________________________________

Quatre hadn’t quite expected the sheer force of Trowa’s kiss. It happened faster than he could process. One moment the guy had distanced himself as if a wall had sprung up between them. The next found Trowa’s weight against him, arms wrapping around him, pulling him in close, and his delicious mouth pressing hard against his own.

The voice in the back of his head chastised him for allowing his reaction time to slip. Mistakes like that could get you killed.

Quatre pushed the voice away as his lips parted willingly like they had done so very many times before. His eyes fluttered closed as he surrendered to Trowa’s demanding tongue. The warmth he found there tasted like rich coffee and he smelled of sandalwood and machinery. Whatever he had been working on must still require him to get his hands on large equipment.

So very Trowa.

Trowa’s hot tongue ravaged his mouth. Exploring, thrusting, massaging. Quatre couldn’t keep from moaning and the electricity that surged through his veins sparked an ember between his legs. God the man could kiss like the devil himself when he felt like it.

A gloved hand caressed the side of his face while the other wrapped tightly around his waist. Holding him like that, Trowa pressed the hard line of his cock against Quatre’s own increasing arousal. His breath hitched in surprise, warranting a chuckle from Trowa. It was a deep sound. Warm and content. A shudder ran down his spine.

Trowa broke their kiss, giving Quatre time to catch his breath. Trowa’s long sinewy fingers snaked themselves underneath his hat, eliciting another tremor, and curled themselves in his blonde hair. A breathless whimper escaped him.

“Trowa...” he started to say before those fingers closed around his hair and tugged.

Quatre gasped against the wicked smile that spread across Trowa’s sharp face. The motion wasn’t enough to hurt or pull his head back. Just enough to send electricity shooting through every fiber of his body and make his dick hard. This was definitely not publicly decent behavior.

“You were saying?” Trowa's voice vibrated next to his ear. It sounded like gravel. Filled with need. The sound made him want Trowa even more. They had been apart way too long.

Before Quatre could answer, Trowa was kissing him again. Just as forcefully as the last time. Demanding submission. Not that Quatre had much resistance to give anyway. Hell, if it wasn’t illegal he’d drop to his knees right here and propriety is damned.

A car horn honked and several whistles came from the road as a mid-aged sedan waited at the traffic light.

They broke their kiss at the same time, both turning their heads to face their cat callers. He felt his face burn in embarrassment as the light turned green and the car sped off. _So much for propriety be damned_ , he thought crossly, though they _had_ just made out in public.

The thought brought another layer of heat to his face. Trowa had always been more of an exhibitionist that he had. He’d never been afraid to press the boundaries of public displays of affection whereas Quatre had drawn a line at anything more than a single kiss or hand holding.

Trowa had called him on it more than once, but it had nothing to do with his sexuality and everything to do with his upbringing and need for professional decorum. Quatre himself wasn’t opposed to small gestures in public, but practically going at it in front of other people, made him uneasy.

And that’s literally what they had just done. In the middle of the sidewalk. In front of dozens of people no less.

Whether they liked it or not, he was the youngest CEO of a Global 500 company. What he did in public reflected upon more than just himself. And with the boundaries he was trying to push in the industry, he couldn’t afford to tank WEI’s respectability.

Trowa must have felt the tension in him because he chuckled softly and withdrew his embrace. Quatre shuddered from the cold biting air that replaced Trowa’s warm protective body. Trowa draped an arm around his shoulders and placed a kiss on the side of his head. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Quatre smiled and tucked his head into Trowa’s shoulder and his hands in his pockets as his lover guided him to the car.


	3. Chapter 2

Trowa couldn’t stop smiling as they walked down the sidewalk back the way they had come. They would have better luck crossing the street a little further down. The night was going much better than he had even dreamed when his plane landed ten hours late. Especially since he hadn’t even expected to see Quatre when he’d gotten off the plane.

With that knit-capped head pressed into his shoulder, Trowa’s heart sang. He could feel Quatre’s warmth radiating through his own coat. Though their sexual temperatures had cooled after that obnoxious car horn interrupted them, he could feel the embers deep inside him slowly kindling.

He stole a kiss as they were forced to wait at a crosswalk sign. Not hot and heavy like earlier. Just enough to tease and torment. The contented look on Quatre’s face as he broke their kiss to cross the street was delightful and his laugh sounded like bell chimes.

Trowa groaned silently as he felt his groin press uncomfortably against his jeans. That laugh tended to have that effect on him. It would take about fifteen minutes or so to get from here to Quatre’s apartment uptown and Trowa had every intention of making him feel every minute of it.

Quatre let out a low whistle of appreciation as they reached his car. “ _This_ is what you rented?” he asked in disbelief.

Trowa shrugged, putting his hands in his coat pockets as Quatre abandoned him to walk a wide circle around the bright yellow Lotus Evora. Sleek and sexy, with over 400 horsepower, the thing was designed to go from zero to sixty less than four seconds. “Trowa, this is a really, really nice car.”

“Geek,” he teased flatly.

“No more than you,” came a mild reply.

Nothing in their current lives was quite like flying full tilt toward an enemy in battle and it wasn’t like any of them could jump in a fighter jet for a mach two joy ride either. They were all adrenaline junkies in their own way. All of the former Gundam pilots had something fast to drive.

“I think the girl at the rental place liked me. I told her my flight had been canceled twice. She gave me a discount.”

That elicited a soft laugh from the blonde. “You are shockingly shameless,” he said. The look he gave Trowa as he dragged his soft, caramel-colored leather gloved fingertips over the front of the car was nothing short of wicked. “You know that?”

 _Fuck._ His breath caught in his lungs as he watched Quatre tease him. His dick was painful enough beneath his pants already and the way those fingers touched that car... _Jesus_. And he knew just what those fingers could do. The thought might just get him off. And they hadn’t even done anything yet! He hadn’t known that was a possibility until now.

“Quatre…” he warned, his voice thick with need.

Quatre continued to walk slowly around the front, his fingers trailing tantalizingly across the sleek surface. Up and over, following the shape of the tire rim. Down the headlight. Across the curve of the hood and up the other side.

Four fingers. Three fingers. One.

_Fuck._

The devilish look Quatre fixed upon him kept him firmly in place, unable to remove his eyes from the sight in front of him. There was something ungodly sexy about Quatre, in that long tailored coat with an undoubtedly tailored suit underneath, and those skin-hugging leather gloves. Touching that damn car in a way that should be illegal. It sent a shiver through him.

Quatre had never been that bold before. In all the years they’d been together, he would never have put on a show like that.

Hell, if he was going to keep doing _that_ he might just have to _buy_ the damn car.

A low chuckle from Quatre reminded him to breathe. He sucked in a lungful of air, trying to force his thundering heart to slow down. A groan escaped him instead. Trowa could feel his erection tenting his pants. No hiding that. _Fucking great._

Rounding the back of the car, Quatre let his fingertips slowly fall away from the sleek carbon fiber. “Apparently not.” Trowa’s breath hitched as the blonde slowly walked up to him. _Shit._ Quatre knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

This was different from before. Something had flipped in him. Whether it was between his leaving five years ago and now or from the street to the car he didn’t know. This Quatre was commanding, confident, and in control. He’d seen him this way when dealing with his business associates during conferences, but not in private.

This looked more like Quatre Raberba Winner, CEO of Winner Enterprises Incorporated. Not the fifteen-year-old cherubic Quatre he had met on the battlefield at Corsica or even the stressed out twenty-two year old he had broken up with.

The blonde stopped within an inch of him. Their bodies almost touched, but not quite. He could feel Quatre’s hot breath on his as he looked down into those big blue eyes. Despite losing the physical high ground, Quatre gave up nothing else, and that devilish look remained.

“So,” his voice was barely a whisper. “Wanna take me for a ride, Trowa?”

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The shocked expression on Trowa’s face was glorious. The only thing that kept him from laughing was Trowa’s bitter, coffee tasting lips on his. Trowa backed him up against the car, their tongues battling for control. Trowa’s visible erection pressed against his inner thigh and he heard himself moan through their fervent kisses.

He had surprised even himself to be, honest. He had never been that brazen in the past, even with Thomas, though the time dating his high school friend had given him a different kind of education than he’d gotten from Trowa. Power games were commonplace in business and he was already several years seasoned there. Thomas had taught him how to transfer that into other areas of life.

Still, he had acted out of character, but the result was electrifying.

Trowa’s arousal had been etched all over him. From his obvious erection, the stiffness in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, to the burning fire he’d found in his eyes and that delicious moan. The knowledge that he had affected Trowa in that way with such a bold move was an aphrodisiac he’d never tasted before.

Reluctant to abdicate the control he’d just had, Quatre pushed back. The force of their kisses matched, neither willing to surrender to the other. He ran his fingers through Trowa’s caramel colored hair, delighting in its softness. Trowa’s hand reached down and massaged Quatre’s hard length. The friction it caused took his breath away.

Quatre tore his mouth from Trowa’s and let his head fall back against the car. “Fuck, Trowa.” His voice came out breathless. His eyelids dropped closed.

A part of him warned that they were still technically in public, though he was sure no one was around. Their continued impropriety concerned him for obvious reasons and he wanted to get Trowa back to his apartment five minutes ago, but God this felt too good to stop.

He could feel Trowa’s smile as he pressed a trail of kisses along his neck. “Nice try though,” he said with satisfaction against his flushed skin. From their position Trowa, was able to unlatch the door which pushed him forward enough to grind their hips together. His moan wasn’t the only one he heard. “Get in the car.”

A self-satisfied smile painted his face as the taller man walked stiffly around the front of the car, keys in hand. Quatre pulled the door open enough to slip in. The leather seats were high quality, of course, and he appreciated the craftsmanship. He melted into the seat like warm butter. The sound the car made as Trowa turned it on was just as sexy as the outside looked.

“This really is a nice car,” he told Trowa as they pulled out of the parking space and headed through town. “Just don’t speed.”

He risked a glance to the side. The playful smirk on his face was wiped away by the look he was given. Something of a mix between lust and chastisement. He said a silent _oh shit_ right before Trowa reached his hand over and massaged the bulge in Quatre’s pants. His head pressed against the headrest as he squirmed in his seat. “Oh God,” he moaned.

He deserved that. Of the two of them, Trowa always preferred to drive and wasn’t overly fond of backseat drivers. Even if it was his own boyfriend. He should have expected he’d be forced to pay for his presumption.

Trowa alternated between fast, hard strokes and slow, steady ones when he didn’t need his hand on the manual gear shift. Sometimes he would give him a bit of reprieve and travel his hand down along the inside of Quatre’s thigh before returning his attention back to his dick.

The delicious torment sent pin pricks shooting along his body. He couldn't stop fidgeting in his seat under Trowa's hand. He tilted his head back, moaning and panting. Considering the length of time since he’d last had sex, he was shocked he hadn't come yet, though he knew it wouldn’t take much at this point. The pleased as punch look he saw on Trowa’s face under half-closed eyelids told him he knew it too.

The fifteen minutes were agony. Quatre sent up a silent prayer when Trowa pulled into the underground parking lot. They managed to keep a respectful, though certainly intimate, level of decorum as they walked from the car to the elevator.

The doors closed in front of them, leaving them alone as Trowa pushed the top floor button, and suddenly Trowa’s weight held him against the back of the cold metal cubicle. They kissed with abandon, though they managed not to do anything compromising. Apparently, Trowa remembered that the elevator had cameras.

Their fun was interrupted by Quatre’s phone going off. _Shit. Thomas._ Reluctantly he stopped kissing Trowa and dipped his head between them so he could fish his phone from his pocket. “Let it go,” Trowa purred as he kissed his neck and Trowa’s hands searched for his. He couldn’t stop the smile from his lips as a shudder ran down his back.

“He’ll figure it out if I don’t,” he hissed back.

Trowa stopped his kisses and his wandering hands. He placed both hands against the back of the elevator on either side of him. Their eyes caught each other as he glanced up from texting his response. “So,” Trowa countered.

Quatre could feel Trowa’s eyes burning into him. Gone was the look of desire and need, replaced with one of possessiveness. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction that Trowa was just more than a little covetous, but he wasn’t about to back down from that look either. Served the guy right. “And you said you weren’t jealous,” he replied. The look he gave Trowa was that of a cat who just caught the mouse.

“I lied,” he said huskily before kissing him again.

It was all he could do to hit the ‘send’ button.

Getting to the door was something of a feat in and of itself considering they couldn’t keep their hands or mouths off each other. He rested his head against the door for support while he fought with the keys in his shaky hands.

Trowa pressed into him from behind. Quatre moaned. This was most definitely _not_ decent. He was suddenly very appreciative of the privacy contract his Marney and lawyers had attached to his lease agreement. He could feel Trowa’s erection between his thighs and under his own. _Shit._ Abandoning his failed attempt at the keys, he placed his hands against the door for support and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might plow through his chest and drop him on the spot. His head was spinning and the ground was beginning to feel less solid.

From somewhere far away he heard Trowa call his name. He followed it.

Slowly he became aware of his surroundings again. His eyes began to refocus. He hadn’t even realized they hadn’t been. He’d been turned around too. His back pressed against the door and though Trowa and his erection were still pressed against him, it was supportive rather than sexual, and the look on Trowa’s face was that of concern, not lust.

“I’m fine,” he told him. Judging by Trowa’s expression, he didn’t believe him. “It’s not that,” he promised, referring to the PTSD. “It’s just...You seem to have quite an effect on me.”

Trowa considered him for a while, gauging his truthfulness. Green eyes searched his face, but he wasn’t hiding anything. Trowa held out his hand. “Then we’ll go slow.” A small smile crossed Quatre’s face as he relinquished his keys.

“I think that’s the problem,” he said half-jokingly.

A moment later they were through the door and pulling at each other’s clothes. Coats were discarded without care in the corner by the door. He was forced to walk backwards as Trowa guided them further in.

The sound of metal jingling and the soft _pat-pat-pat_ trotting towards them announced his dog’s arrival. His warm silky body pressed against Quatre’s knee as he came to greet them. His cold nose found Trowa's hand and he licked it. “Hi, Danny Dog,” Trowa said distractedly between kisses, patting the top of the collie's angular head as his other arm pulled Quatre closer.

He laughed softly. “He misses you,” he said against Trowa's ear as he used both hands to tug at his sweater. Trowa continued to force him to walk backward until they bumped into the table. He dropped his messenger bag on the dark wooden surface and raised his arms so Quatre could pull it off.

Quatre ran his hands across Trowa’s muscular chest. He dipped his head, pressing kisses against bare flesh. First, right at the dip in his neck at the top of his chest, then down the sternum, and over a pectoral where he found a nipple and began sucking. He felt Trowa’s hands grip his hair as a low moan escaped him. He smiled at having provoked such a reaction from him. His hands traveled downward, exploring Trowa’s hard abs.

The guy always had been a gym nut.

Trowa gasped as his hands played around the lip of his jeans and dipped underneath the tight fabric. He smiled as the grip on his hair tightened under one hand while the other grabbed his chin. The strength of Trowa’s grip caused his breath to catch as Trowa forced his head up, causing him to abandon the hard, sensitive nub he had enjoyed playing with.

He could feel Trowa’s heart pounding under has hands as they slid back up to his chest. Both of their breathing had become quick and ragged. His eyes met Trowa’s and the need he found there mirrored his own. Trowa ran his thumb across his jawline, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Trowa…” His voice trembled and was swallowed by Trowa's mouth on his. Hot, heavy, and fierce. Releasing the pressure on his scalp, Trowa wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in close. Their hips ground together. The friction caused them both to moan. Trowa leaned over him, bending him over backwards. Trowa grabbed his thighs and lifted him up as if he weighed practically nothing, setting him fully on the table. He moaned. He’d forgotten how strong the guy was.

One hand gripped Trowa’s bicep while the other ran through his hair as the guy laid kisses down his neck. His eyes closed and he could feel the cool wood of the table press against the flushed skin beneath his suit as he tipped his head back, allowing Trowa more access to the real estate there as he felt the cool wetness against his skin as Trowa’s dragged his tongue up his throat. Oh _God_. He shivered.

Suddenly, Trowa’s head was down near his pants where his now painful erection pressed against the fabric. Avoiding the place he really wanted him to put his mouth, Trowa began trailing kisses over his body, through the shirt, from his groin on up. “Nice suit,” Trowa said as he began to unbutton Quatre's vest.

He groaned at the husky sound of Trowa's voice. “Thanks,” he replied breathlessly, threading his hands in Trowa's hair. “Do something about it will you.”

Trowa chuckled, but picked up the pace. He’d been right in his assumption in the parking lot. The vest was dark grey silk that matched the color of his pants, the button-up high quality synthetic something. Trowa discarded the vest somewhere on the other end of the table. Quatre couldn't help the sharp intake of breath as Trowa worked his button-down open and the chilly air of the house hit his flushed skin.

He felt warm, soft kisses press against his toned stomach. Trowa’s hands touched and explored before running up and over his shoulders, helping him remove the shirt. “You work out more.”

It was a statement rather than a question and, by the sound of it, an appreciative one.

“Started going with Thomas,” he said between gasps and whimpers as Trowa started sucking on one of his nipples. Payback. “I'm lazy and do what he does. Plus the cardio is good for my lung.” He closed his eyes, trying to focus on not coming inside his pants. He really didn’t want to get a dirty look from the dry cleaners next week.

A soft laugh traveled from Trowa's lips to his ears.

“Trowa...” he begged, attempting to push his brunette's head down. He really needed him to take care of that.

Slowly, deliciously, agonizingly slowly, he worked his way downward, placing a trail of kisses in his wake. A hand wrapped around his shaft firmly through the fabric, causing him to gasp and suck in a lungful of air. With his fingers threaded in Trowa's hair he felt him lift his head and watch his reaction. Quatre tipped his head back as far as the table would allow. His eyes stayed closed and his mouth gaped open in a silent cry of ecstasy.

Fireworks shot through his body when Trowa began pumping his hand along his shaft. “God, Trowa!” he exclaimed. He felt Trowa smile as another kiss was placed on his skin right above his belt. Trowa quickened the pace. It made his head spin and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stave off his building orgasm. His back was sticky with sweat as it pressed against the table. He could hear himself panting and he began to fear he wasn’t going to keep his climax back until his pants were off.

“Trowa,” he begged, wiggling underneath his lover.

“Hmm,” came a reply before Trowa nipped at his side. The motion caused his breath to catch. Trowa chuckled. _Fuck!_

Quatre lifted his head and looked down at his lover. “I'm not going to last if you keep that up.”

“That’s sort of the point,” came the playful response as his shaft was gripped tighter. It was enough to arch his back and drop his head back against the table.

“Trowa!”

Trowa laughed. “Have a little patience,” he teased.

The pressure around his shaft thankfully disappeared and he could hear the jingle of his belt being loosened. Within moments his belt was gone and Trowa was hurriedly unfastening his pants. He was much too dazed from his almost-orgasm to do much else but listen.

“You okay?” he heard Trowa ask. He sounded farther away than he should.

“Yeah,” he replied as his head began to clear. He took advantage of his reprieve to sit up and push himself to the edge of the table. His legs were already draped on either side of Trowa's slender hips and as Trowa worked on removing his pants, he returned the favor.

Their lips found each other again as their fingers tugged at each other's remaining clothes. Well worn jeans fell heavily, entwined with tailored Armani.

Trowa pulled him close, half carrying him to the bed. They touched, kissed, licked, and nipped each other until his knees bumped against the bed. He practically fell backwards onto the soft mattress. Trowa blissfully followed.

After several moments of rediscovering each other’s bodies, Trowa dipped his head down south. The warm wetness that enveloped his shaft as Trowa grabbed his base and took him into his mouth almost made him fall over the edge. He threw his head back and let out a shout in surprise. His fingers once again found purchase in Trowa's hair.

“Oh God,” he moaned and arched his hips. He thought he’d calmed down more than that. He’d been wrong.

Trowa bobbed his head, gradually taking more of Quatre in his mouth as he went. The pace increased. The pressure of Trowa’s tongue along the underside of his shaft and the pumping of his fist at his base caused his body to shudder. His grip tightened in Trowa’s hair. His orgasm was almost there again and he was so strung out he wasn't sure how long he could keep it back. _I’m just too close._

His vision was turning fuzzy. “Trowa!”

At his exclamation Trowa immediately withdrew his tongue and hand. He could hear his lover panting just as he was. “Trowa, please,” he begged between shuddering gasps.

“I know, Quatre. I know,” he heard Trowa say softly, pressing a kiss to his damp forehead. He felt him straddle his waist and reach over to the bedside drawer. The movement forced him to release his hold on Trowa’s hair and he let his arms flop to his sides. Anything else would have just been too much effort.  
___________________________________________________________________

He smiled at the blissed look in Quatre’s half-closed eyes. The guy was watching him as he rummaged around in the drawer and found condoms and lube. _Thank God you have the sense to stay stocked_ , he thought as he grabbed both and set them within reach.

With a hungry look and gravel in his voice he told Quatre to bend over. The blonde willingly obliged, rolling onto his stomach. “I might not be able to support myself for long,” Quatre said shakily. That certainly wasn’t surprising. He wrapped an arm around Quatre’s torso, giving him added support.

“You won’t need to,” he assured him quietly, dropping a trail of kisses down his slender back and positioning himself behind him. The bottle of lube opened with a sharp click and he felt Quatre shudder beneath him in anticipation of what was coming.

Gently, he pressed a slick finger between Quatre's cheeks and teased the area around entrance. He heard a sharp intake of breath from the blonde. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I'm fine,” came a shaky reply. “Just a little out of practice.”

A warm chuckle escaped him. “We'll fix that,” he said as he pressed a kiss on his shoulder. At the same time, he pushed, inserting his finger into Quatre. He was rewarded with a satisfied moan. God, he was tight. He would definitely need to be coaxed into accepting him. He slowly worked his finger inside Quatre. Discovering, testing. Slowly at first, then building in tempo. Quatre's moans became more frequent.

“Trowa.”

He smiled. “You want more?” he asked as he teased Quatre's entrance with another finger while stroking him on the inside with the first.

A breathless “Yes, please,” answered him. Trowa withdrew his finger in order to add some more lube. The moan that came from Quatre this time was one of aggravation. He chuckled and obliged him.

Quatre pressed against him as he slowly worked both fingers inside. He was obviously eager, but Trowa dictated the pace. If Quatre really was that out of practice, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt him because he didn’t have the self-control to prep him properly.

He withdrew his fingers then entered him again, gradually increasing the speed and force as Quatre relaxed and opened to him. They were both panting and he could hear Quatre repeatedly begging him for what they both wanted, what they both needed.

He withdrew his fingers and his arm from Quatre’s waist, much to the blonde’s dismay. With shaking hands, he tore open a foil packet and rolled the condom over his shaft. He opened the lube again, putting a generous amount on himself and on his fingers again.

Again, wrapping a supportive arm around a quickly weakening Quatre, he pressed his fingers inside him. This time there was no resistance as his fingers slid right in. The blonde trembled at his touch. _He really won't last long_ , he thought as he withdrew his fingers and placed the tip of his shaft against his entrance.

Quatre gasped at the pressure as he pushed inside. He threw his head back as the soft tissue made room for him. Gently, he withdrew and pushed in again. Quatre pressed into him as he entered again and moaned in pleasure. Trowa repeated the motion, rocking back and forth, in and out, as Quatre adjusted to his size.

Once Quatre loosened up enough, he picked up the pace. His thrusts became faster, harder. Neither of them was going to be able to last for anything other than a hard, fast ride. Both of them were panting as he buried himself into Quatre repeatedly. Quatre's cries of pleasure matched his own and sent electricity throughout every nerve.

They were both coming to the edge.

Quatre was shaking so badly, Trowa worried the blonde might collapse from under him. He pulled him up against him, allowing the smaller blonde to lean against him for stability. Quatre let his head roll backward against his shoulder and Trowa nuzzled the curve where Quatre's shoulder blended into his neck

He grabbed Quatre's shaft with his free hand and began pumping hard and fast. Quatre’s breath caught before moaning in his ear as Trowa continued to pound into him. He could hear the crack in Quatre’s voice as he took him to the edge. He could feel his own climax quickly threatening to wash over him. _Not yet._

Suddenly, he changed angles and thrust in deep. He felt the tremors wrack Quatre's body as his own orgasm flooded over him.

They fell down onto the bed together in a tangled mess of sweaty arms and legs. They stayed that way for a long while as they caught their breath and waited for their strength to return. Trowa slowly pulled out of Quatre, careful to make sure the condom came with him.

“Quatre,” he asked. The only response he got was an incomprehensible groan. The guy was out of it. He worried for a moment that he’d been too hard on him, though he’d never once indicated that had been the case.

Normally he would clean up before passing out, but he was just too exhausted to care. Tossing the condom in what he hoped was the direction of the trash can, he pulled the covers and tucked them both under the warm downy blankets.

He pulled Quatre in close and was rewarded by the blonde entwining his legs with his and nuzzling into his chest. Trowa smiled as sleep overtook him.


	4. Chapter 3

Quatre woke up to the soft light of the sun peeking through the curtains that hung against the large window at the head of the bed. He blinked repeatedly as his eyes adjusted. Looking out the window, the morning looked chilly, yet bright. He smiled. Spring was coming. He looked to the adjacent window which ran along the length of the bed. The sun was peeking in from there as well. It was a good morning.

Something warm shifted near him under the covers causing him to look to the side. It was Trowa. Still, fast asleep and laying on his side. _Oh. Right_ , he thought, remembering the night before. Gently, he ran a hand through the guy’s incorrigible shock of hair.

He hadn’t expected this. To see Trowa. To bring him back to his place. That they’d share a bed together no less. He huffed a quiet laugh at the irony. His chest tightened at the thought of Trowa leaving again. They’d made no promises to each other. There had been no expectations. No strings.

But being in Trowa’s arms again. It felt right. Even if there was a lot of emotional baggage that went with it. He took a deep, steadying breath. There had certainly been a hint of something more in the question Trowa had asked last night on the sidewalk.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t think about it or even entertain the thought of going down that road. Not yet anyway. The last thing he needed was to get his hopes up and get hurt all over again. Withdrawing his hand from Trowa’s hair he slowly, so as not to disturb him, left the bed. He needed to clear his mind.

Quietly, he padded over to the other end of the apartment and took a shower. Danny Dog pranced and wagged his tail as he toweled off. He ruffled the big collie’s soft mane of white fur. “Wanna go for a walk?” he whispered before changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He balanced against the closet as he shoved his bare feet into a pair of running shoes. For as short a walk as they had, he was too lazy to put socks on, especially when he would just take them off when he got back anyway.

He looked over his shoulder at Trowa’s still sleeping form as he quietly grabbed his keys and wallet that had fallen to the floor during the night. He pulled on Trowa’s three-in-one coat. It matched his dressed down look and happened to be the coat he picked up first. He snapped his fingers, bringing Danny Dog’s attention back on him. The collie whipped his head in his direction and trotted over after almost getting on the bed with Trowa.

“We have to go out,” he told him as he clipped his leash on Danny’s leather collar. The collie licked his face.

They walked down the street like they did every weekend. They had to stop and take care of Danny’s business before continuing further down. He stopped at the corner stand to buy the weekend edition of the Boston Globe. He really should have just subscribed forever ago, but he and Danny both rather enjoyed their weekly ritual.

“Morning Quatre,” chimed a bright little teenager. Raven black curls ran down her lightly freckled face. “New coat?”

“Morning Alecia,” he replied with a small smile. “Something like that.” He could never not be in a good mood around her. Her smoky gray eyes sparkled back at him.

She was a high school senior and a dedicated athlete specializing in soccer who was just about to turn eighteen. Her family owned the corner stand and she used to help out occasionally. During the six years Quatre had lived in his condo, he’d grown fond of them. He had practically watched Alecia grow up.

A year ago her dad, who had run the stand while her mother worked at a hotel, died from some kind of cancer. Since then it was Alecia who ran the stand when not in school or practice. Quatre had been impressed by her resilience and positive attitude. She was currently waiting to hear back from potential colleges. She wanted to be a doctor and with her mother’s permission, though Alecia didn’t know it yet, Quatre had put a fair bit of money in a trust account for her, which would help offset her college expenses.

“And hello Danny Dog,” she exclaimed in excitement, coming from around the counter to kneel in front of the collie who seemed more than pleased at the attention. She ruffled his mane and gave him a big hug and a kiss before fishing out a chewy bone from her back pocket.

“You spoil him,” Quatre said mildly as she returned to her stand. He handed her his money. Her smile dipped a little, seemed tighter, more forced than usual. That wasn’t like her. “What’s wrong?’ he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied and handed him a copy of the morning’s top gossip magazine. “But I think you’re going to have to call your PR person.” He took the magazine and slid a large bill towards her.

“Thanks,” he said distractedly, studying the cover as he and Danny Dog made their way home before she could give him change. _Well shit._ That was definitely a picture of the two of them from last night. He sighed and dug out his phone to call Marney, WEI’s communications director, before he got back to the apartment. The last thing he wanted was for Trowa to wake up to him getting yelled at through the phone.

______________________________________________________________________

Something was sizzling in the background and he could smell something being burnt. Trowa opened his eyes. The light was bright, even through the silver curtains. He rolled over as he forced the cobwebs out of his head. His legs ran into something large and warm. Sitting up he saw Danny Dog curled up at his feet, gnawing on what looked to be a large chewy bone.

He looked into the kitchen to see Quatre hurriedly remove a pan from the stove and replace it with another. He had always been a better cook than him by far, though it wasn’t a good idea to ask him to bake anything. Trowa looked at the wall clock that hung on the wall. _Damn. It’s after ten_. He rubbed his face in his hands. He must have been more tired than he’d thought. And jet lagged probably.

Looking around, he noticed how familiar this place was. The whole floor, save for the stone tile in the bathroom, was made of bright hickory hardwood. Large floor to ceiling windows spanned the length of the wall, offering a glorious view of the city of Boston down below.

Quatre’s master bedroom had been made with glass walls, offering an almost complete view of the condo’s interior. It had helped, early in his PTSD treatment, when he’d woken from his nightmares. The clear walls had offered an immediate security assessment of the place without having to leave the safety of his room. Curtain rods lined the top walls near the ceiling, giving the option for more privacy when desired.

The curtains hadn’t been touched last night, giving Trowa an easy view of the dining room with its large natural edged wood table they had put to such delightful use the night before. The kitchen was big, sleek, and modern, with counter space galore made out of white marble.

With another bedroom down the way, a bedroom-turned-office-space, two bathrooms, a dropped down living room, and plenty of terrace space which included a pool, the place was huge. Much more space than even Quatre said he needed. He’d paid handsomely for the place too. Looking to his right he could see the sunlight dancing off the reflection of the Charles River. Quatre had been more than willing to pay for the view.

Trowa dropped his hands into his lap and watched Quatre for a while, enjoying the show. He seemed relaxed. A welcome change from the last time he’d seen the guy in this apartment. The brown and yellow indie rock band t-shirt hugged the blonde in all the right places, accentuating his toned body, riding above the lip of his jeans occasionally as he maneuvered whatever it was that he was making. The guy certainly made a t-shirt and jeans look sexy. He’d almost forgotten Quatre owned something other than suits. The change was nice.

The corner of his mouth turned upward as he imagined doing some not so innocent things to the young millionaire… Again. Quatre’s golden head bobbed as he tapped some musical rhythm only he could hear with his bare feet on the hardwood floor. The guy was such a music geek.

His reverie was disturbed when Danny Dog noticed he was awake. The collie plowed his way on top of him and licked his face. He closed his eyes and tried to push the dog’s head away. “No, Danny… Oof.” The air went out of his lungs as the large canine threw himself sideways against his torso, knocking the wind out of him.

 _Alright fine._ He wrapped his muscular arms around the dog, threading his hand in his mane and around his midsection, and began planting kisses on his muzzle. Sure enough, after wrestling around for a while like that Danny Dog got tired of the game real quick. The dog twisted in his arms until Trowa let him go. _Serves you right, fur ball,_ he thought in victory as he watched the dog take his chewy and pad across the hardwood to his dog bed in the corner.

“Trowa…”

He looked over his shoulder to see Quatre standing in between the kitchen and the dining room holding two plates. The look on his face was one of amused attraction. “Yeah?” He was acutely aware that, despite being tangled in bed sheets, not very much of himself was currently covered.

“Why are you making out with my dog?”

He shot the blonde a glare. “I wasn’t making out with your dog,” he replied cooly. Beastiality was not his thing. There was a pause in the air as Quatre continued to stare at him with a mildly amused expression. “He started it.”

Without another word on the matter, Quatre turned and walked to the table, setting the plates down. “Come get breakfast.”

Trowa looked around and found his clothes from the night before placed at the other end of the bed, where Danny Dog hadn’t been laying. It appeared that Quatre had already tidied the place up after last night. Pulling his clothes back on, he silently thanked him for that. He really didn’t want to go scavenging around the condo for his clothes buck naked. He’d have to go get his suitcase from the car a little later or find a hotel room. The latter would probably be better.

As he walked over to the table he noticed his messenger bag propped against the counter wall. Even in the delirious rush to get each other’s clothes off, he remembered leaving his bag on the table, not the floor, and definitely not where it currently resided. Some file folders were stacked neatly beside it as if they had been quickly pushed back in place. The file on top had Castonev’s name.

He draped one long leg over the other as he took a seat. His stomach growled at the sight of stuffed omelets and sausage on his plate. Simple, but delicious. He looked over at Quatre who was busying himself back in the kitchen. “Did you look?” he asked casually.

The blonde met his eyes before returning to whatever it was he was doing. That look, calculating, yet honest. “The thought crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But it’s not my place.”

“Go ahead. There’s nothing in there you don’t already have clearance for.”

Quatre considered him warily as he placed a bowl of fresh fruit and a mug in front of him. He murmured his thanks as Quatre turned back around and picked up the file, reading as he slid into his own seat. The omelet and sausage seemingly forgotten. Old habits...Quatre had never been able to break his tendency to forget meals when something had him concerned.

“Still don’t know where he could be?” he asked. The disappointment in his voice, though subtle was still evident to Trowa. `

“We’ve had hints here and there, but nothing solid that’s led to anything. Intelligence guys think he’s running an arms ring out of Africa.”

“Well, that’s industrious of him,” Quatre muttered with a hint of bitterness. “Considering he’s been number one on your wanted list for nine years, it sure doesn’t look like you have much.”

 _Ouch. That was a little harsh_ , he thought with a wince. Wasn’t shocking though, considering Quatre’s history with Castonev.

Trowa shrugged, belying his own deep-seated reasons for wanting the guy caught. More preferably, he’d like to put a bullet in his head. “Africa’s big. We might have peace, but that doesn’t mean illegal drug running and arms trafficking has stopped. The guy has a lot of avenues to make a lot of money that would also keep him under the radar.”

He could feel his blood begin to boil at the thought. Talking about Castonev’s continued freedom had that effect on him. Seemingly on cue, he felt Danny Dog pad over and sit next to him. The collie’s long muzzle rested on his draped foot. Trowa absently stroked the dog’s head.

“Cyber espionage?” Quatre looked up at him questioningly. The surprise on his face was evident. “Different market from arms trafficking.”

“Apparently some of the European bureaus are seeing some action that has links to him. Since it’s cyber I thought…”

“We should up our firewalls?” Their eyes locked. Neither looked away for a long while. They each knew the implication he’d just made.

Castonev had every reason to want to destroy Quatre in any way possible. Technology, especially cyber security was an ever changing beast as technology constantly evolved. Cyber warfare was a priority among top companies like WEI. It wasn’t far from conceivable that Castonev might come at him through the company’s security. Or his own.

“I’ll make the call a little later,” Quatre assured him as he placed the file aside and turned his attention to breakfast. Trowa nodded as he surreptitiously fed Danny Dog a piece of sausage. “I saw that.”

Trowa snapped his hand away and cleared his throat. Time to change the subject. “So...GQ?”

“Huh?”

“Duo mentioned you made it on the cover of GQ.” He’s only found out last night during a phone call. Duo had let slip that Quatre had been chosen for a fall cover of the men’s premier magazine. No doubt Marney, WEI’s Communications Director, was over the moon about it, but he knew Quatre himself wouldn’t be. A hefty interview was attached to the cover photoshoot and ever since his trial-by-fire interview after he’d turned 18, Quatre had been media shy. He wasn’t known as a recluse by any means, but he was known for not giving interviews.

Embarrassment colored Quatre’s face. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “It was Marney’s idea. They called. Stuff like that goes through her office and she said yes. I can’t get out of it. It’s scheduled for sometime in the early summer.”

“If we’re going to talk about magazines...” Quatre said as he went back to the kitchen. He brought back what looked to be one of the bazillion gossip magazines that existed and dropped it in front of Trowa with disdain before sitting back down and staring at him.

Trowa glanced up at Quatre, whose expression he couldn’t read. The hair prickled at the back of his neck and he wondered if this is what it felt to be on the other side of a negotiating table from the Winner family CEO. Shooting him another cautious glance, he picked it up and looked at it. It really wasn’t bad. By the glare Quatre was shooting him from across the table, Trowa was pleasantly thrilled that it wasn’t worse.

The cover showed them in a close embrace as they shared a passionate kiss on the sidewalk. Quatre looked dashing as always. Very much the young, fashionable businessman that he was. Trowa didn’t think he looked that bad either, though he definitely wouldn’t have been on the young CEO’s radar if they hadn’t both been Gundam pilots. That fact resonated with him deeply.

“It’s actually a nice shot,” he said, setting it down and looking at Quatre who was watching him closely. The look he was given caused him to temporarily rethink that comment. _This_ must _be what it feels like to be on the other side of business with him_. “Hey, it could have been a lot worse,” he reminded him.

Quatre closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. Marney’s already on it,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples with a hand. “If there’s more, she’ll take care of it.”  
That sent a cold chill down his spine and not in a good way. Sure it was business politics and not covert ops, but his experience with what people meant when they said they’d “take care of it” was far different than Quatre’s.

He looked at the magazine again. It sobered him, knowing someone might have more compromising pictures somewhere. They both had lost their self-control last night. If worse was out there, it could potentially sink Quatre’s image and maybe the company’s.

It reminded him of why Quatre had been such a stickler against having too much fun in public areas. Consumers purchased along ideological grounds and values more than they used to, especially after the colonies’ markets had expanded when the ESUN was formed. It didn’t help that WEI had been forced to work hard to regain the goodwill of its home colony after the war. Their rebranding efforts were only eleven years old and Quatre’s young, innovative appeal had been tightly married to the company’s image.

It might not be a big deal that the guy was gay, but if it looked like the guy was another entitled, promiscuous, rich white kid...Good bye respect and opportunities. Fair or not, straight guys still got away with more indiscretions than gay guys.

He let the magazine drop again. He looked up to see Quatre had already begun clearing the table. He had been so ingrained in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed. “Quatre, I’m sorry. I know you go out of your way to avoid stuff like this. I hope it doesn’t cause you too much trouble.”

Quatre smiled as he walked back over to Trowa. That smile, so warm and understanding, felt like sunshine on his skin. God, he missed that smile. The blonde eased onto the corner of the table next to Trowa, leaned in, and kissed him.

Trowa hadn’t expected it. He put up no resistance as Quatre’s tongue pushed past his lips and met his own. He let his eyes drop closed as he pushed the chair farther away from the table. Quatre followed, draping one leg over the other side of him and made himself comfortable on his lap. Trowa felt arms wrap around his neck as their tongues teased each other. He wrapped his own arms around Quatre’s trim waist, wanting their bodies to be closer. He moaned and could feel Quatre smile through their kisses. _God, this was right_.

After a while Quatre pulled back enough to break their kiss, giving them both an opportunity to catch their breath. The sparkle he saw in Quatre’s eyes lifted his heart. “Marney said it shouldn’t be too bad, so long as that’s the worst of it,” he explained as one hand played with the short hair at the back of his head, causing a shiver to run through his body. It always felt good when Quatre did that.

Quatre’s other hand slid down to stroke enticingly against the hard line that had developed beneath his jeans. His head tipped backward as another moan escaped his lips. A devilishly sweet chuckle rolled out of Quatre as he trailed kisses punctuated with playful bites down his exposed neck. Long, sinewy fingers teased his shaft as his arousal grew.

“Aside from being a rather boring homebody with very little time for a social life, I’ve managed to keep what social life I do have out of the papers,” Quatre added, his breath hot against Trowa’s flushed skin. The effect sent sparks of electricity running through his veins. “So the paparazzi getting something like that is considered a job well done for them, I would expect.”

Quatre’s hands dropped away and he couldn’t help the frustrated groan that escaped his lips. “Marney said we should be okay so long as we behave ourselves from now on,” Quatre said as he stood up, taking Trowa’s finished plate to the kitchen. He opened his eyes and watched as the cause of his current erection busied himself with the dishwasher. The obvious tent in his pants was rather uncomfortable.

He wasn’t about to let him get away with that.

Trowa pushed himself out of his chair. He could hear Quatre close the dishwasher as he walked up quietly behind him. He admired the view and Quatre seemed oblivious to his approach. He could see the little swirls his blonde hair made at the nape of his neck. Up close, the pull and folds of his shirt became accentuated. Most everything Quatre owned, save for his taste in sweaters, fitted him well, accenting his athletic body.

He pressed himself against Quatre, pushing them both against the counter, one hand wrapped around that trim waist of his, ghosting gently across his stomach. Quatre’s breathing hitched and Trowa smiled. The sudden forward movement had surprised his blonde lover enough that he’d had to place his hand against the counter to steady himself. Trowa placed his hand on top of Quatre’s on the counter, their fingers threading together.

“You really didn’t expect to get away with that, did you?” he asked, planting a string of kisses up the side of Quatre’s neck. He could feel the blonde smile underneath him, even if he couldn’t see his face.

Faster than he could react, Quatre twisted in his arms, separating their hands and causing Trowa’s arm to drop from his waist. Facing each other, Trowa could see the coy smile on his face and the excited glint in his eye.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” Quatre said, reaching forward and unfastening Trowa’s jeans. Trowa chuckled as he took his shirt off and tossed it to the side. Of course, he’d planned that. With a smile, he cupped Quatre’s face in his hands and kissed him gently.

“I must be off my game if I took the bait that easily.”

“I don’t mind,” Quatre replied as he slid Trowa’s jeans down until they pooled around his ankles. The quip made him laugh. He stepped backward, out of his abandoned jeans and away from the counter, pulling Quatre with him.

“Then you won’t mind being on your knees.”

Without hesitation Quatre dropped and what a glorious sight that was. It was his breath that hitched this time as Quatre’s lovely mouth took him in, shallowly at first, then completely. He moaned. The movement was slow, aggravating and electrifying all at once. Quatre’s tongue massaged, flicked, and sucked him gloriously, but always slowly. It was maddening.

Every time Trowa tried to increase the pace, Quatre withdrew his mouth just a little. The wicked smile on his angelic face left no question as to whether or not he was denying him on purpose. _Fucking tease._

Trowa wrapped his hands in Quatre’s hair, holding him still, and began thrusting. Now it was his turn to dictate the pace. He could feel his orgasm building already. Quatre shifted slightly underneath him, opening his throat, and allowing him to slide deeper. Trowa’s head tipped back as a groan escaped him.

His breathing became faster, the thrusts of his hips more fervent as tremors began to roll over him. Quatre sucked for all he was worth. He moaned. “Quatre,” he gasped, looking down into those big blue eyes. “I’m close, Quatre…”

Quatre’s tongue dragged along the underside of his shaft and that was enough to topple him over the edge. He closed his eyes and moaned as he felt himself spill down Quatre’s throat. Something about that, Quatre sucking him dry, had always turned him on again. This time wasn’t any different.

Carefully, he pulled himself out of Quatre’s mouth and joined him, kneeling on the floor. They kissed. Arms wrapped around each other. Their legs tangled together, causing them both to fall on the cold hardwood with a loud thump. Quatre’s laugh was bright and weightless. The sound of it made his chest tight and his heart sing.

His mouth found Quatre’s, who opened readily for him. He held Quatre’s head in one hand while the other traveled down his jeans, teasing along his shaft. Quatre moaned into his mouth. Trowa’s hands roamed Quatre’s body, now delightfully under his own. Every movement the blonde made, he felt. He planted kisses up Quatre’s chest as he pushed his t-shirt up.

Eventually, it was off and Trowa was forced to use both hands against Quatre’s suddenly difficult pants button. The damn thing should _not_ be that difficult, but Quatre’s hands were tugging at his hair and his mouth was demanding to be kissed. He was more than happy to oblige, but it also made thinking rather difficult.

After several failed attempts, Trowa finally gave up his battle with the button. Breaking their kiss he cursed in frustration. “What the hell, Quatre? Did Rashid send you chastity jeans or something?”

Quatre threw his head back and laughed. Trowa didn’t think it at all funny. “Please, for the love of God, don’t give him any ideas.” Quatre’s reply was broken by fits of laughter as he easily managed to overcome the stubborn button.

The laughter caught in Quatre’s throat as Trowa wrapped his hand around his shaft and began slowly dragging it up and down his shaft. Quatre gasped and tried to thrust his hips, but Trowa expected it and didn’t give the desperate blonde what he wanted. “How do you like it?” he teased. His voice had turned husky. He felt a shiver run through Quatre. He smiled. He’d always enjoyed that response.

“I guess I deserve that,” Quatre whined.

“Damn right you do,” he shot back before stealing a kiss. “But you did make up for it.”

Reluctantly, Trowa broke away from Quatre’s mouth and dragged a trail of kisses down his body. Quatre squirmed and moaned beneath him. He felt fingers thread themselves in his hair and it sent sparks of electricity through his body. Quatre urged his head down faster and he was more than happy to comply.

“Oh God!” Quatre gasped as he took his dick in his mouth all at once. Quatre’s back arched, thrusting him deeper. Trowa met the movement eagerly and began sucking. Fast then slow. His tongue teased, then dominated Quatre’s senses. He moaned underneath him. The grip on his hair tightened and he could hear Quatre’s plaintive voice calling his name. He smiled. Quatre had never been able to last long when he went down on him.

The sound of Quatre’s cell phone vibrating across the tile, muffled by his discarded jeans, contrasted against the sound of desperate panting.

Quatre’s beautiful eyes were closed, his head tipped back, mouth agape as he forced his body to take in air between the tremors that ran through his body. Fingers curling in his hair, Quatre arched his back at the same time he pushed Trowa’s head down.

Trowa opened himself up, taking more of Quatre in his mouth. He was rewarded with a gasp from the young CEO that lay trembling underneath him. He grinned, head bobbing, as he increased his pace. Even when he was the one giving head, Quatre melted under him.

Quatre’s cell phone went off again. The dull vibration turned into a sharp clacking as the offensive thing escaped its pocket prison and jumped against the hard, cold tile. He stopped, withdrawing his mouth from around Quatre’s now dripping cock. The blonde let out an annoyed groan. “Ignore it,” he said with obvious frustration.

He looked from the phone down to beautiful Quatre. What a delightful sight that was, Quatre’s face flushed and with that far-off look in his eyes. Poor guy had been close too by the look (and taste) of it.

A wicked smile crossed his face as he planted a kiss on his lover’s damp forehead. “You don’t need to get that?” he teased, grabbing Quatre’s dick and sliding his hand up and down slowly. Quatre gasped at the unexpected motion, hips thrusting, trying to increase the pace. Quatre's lithe body shook under his own and damn did that send a shiver throughout his own body. Giving up some of the motion, he leaned forward and planted a trail of kisses along Quatre’s exposed neck.

Then the home phone rang.

Panting, they looked at each other for a moment before Trowa removed his hand and propped himself up over Quatre. “Certainly are persistent,” he said, reaching above them. He managed to pull the kitchen phone close enough to grab it off the receiver. He blanched at the name on the caller ID. He looked at Quatre, holding the phone out between them. The high pitched ring hurt his ears as it clamored for attention. “You might want to answer it,” he said. “It’s Rashid.”

Quatre pulled himself out from under him, taking the phone and his discarded clothes with him. Sitting in the kitchen, Trowa began pulling his own clothes back on...again. He didn’t envy that phone call. He knew exactly what it was going to be about.

He groaned in frustration as he tucked himself back into his pants. Damn Rashid and his timing.

After dressing, he stood up and brewed himself another cup of coffee. He hoped the bitter taste would help him refocus. He stayed in the kitchen as Quatre, also clothed once again, with the addition of socks and one of his oversized sweaters, took the call out on the terrace. The guy looked like he might pace a trench down to the next level.

It was going to be cold out there. Trowa set about making a hot cup of tea for when he came back in.

_____________________________________________________________________

Quatre paced the terrace, an arm wrapped around his midsection to keep his core warm against the chill air as he listened to Rashid’s lecture. He should have expected the call, but he hadn’t even thought about the fact that his former legal guardian and confidante would have noticed the morning’s juicy gossip headlines, even on the space colony.

The tone of Rashid's voice was firm in the way that concerned parents had when their kids did something stupid because they were young, but knew better. Quatre had to agree with Trowa, the tabloid picture was actually quite tastefully romantic. As he listened obediently it became evident that Rashid’s issue wasn’t with the picture itself, Quatre’s reputation, or the company’s image, but with him seemingly getting back together with the same guy who broke his heart five years ago.

“I know,” he said lamely during a pause in his friend’s spiel. Damn it was cold out here. He didn’t understand why he had felt it necessary to come outside for this. The condo was plenty big enough inside.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” came Rashid's deep baritone voice over the phone.

“I’m 27 and have only had two romantic relationships in my life. I think we can confidently say that I don’t,” he replied with slight irritation that sent pin pricks down the back of his neck. There was silence between them and he could imagine Rashid pressing his lips together in equal agitation.

He looked back into the apartment where Trowa appeared to be busying himself in the kitchen. His heart constricted to the point where he had to remind himself to breathe. Seeing Trowa in his place again, so at home like before, made him hopeful that he might stay despite the pessimistic warning in the back of his head and Rashid’s own objections.

Quatre rubbed his temples with his free hand. “I’m not expecting anything,” he assured Rashid. That wouldn’t make the man any happier, but he wasn’t about to lie to him. Rashid didn’t approve of sexual promiscuity.

“Does he?” Quatre’s eyes widened in surprise at the harsh words. He blinked repeatedly, staring at nothing as silence once again hung between them. He’d thought Rashid liked Trowa, even after they’d split. What was he getting at?

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been pretty content with his lifestyle since you two broke up. He’s never been the most open individual and you’ve always been sensitive and optimistic.”

“Your point?” he could hear Rashid sigh at Quatre’s resistance.

“I’m saying be careful. Before you get too deep in this a second time, make sure you know where you both stand and what you want. They may not be the same things. If they’re not, you might have to make some hard decisions. I don’t want to see you go down that road again.”

Rashid waited for several seconds, waiting for a reply. Quatre had none. His guardian had spoken unfiltered reality in the face of his own hopeful dreaming. He looked back inside. Trowa was still busying himself in the kitchen. Tall, handsome, and honest, Trowa had never misled him. But would he stay? Quatre wasn’t sure.

“He’s there?”

Oh shit. Rashid’s voice pulled him back to the present. “Yeah,” he answered tentatively.

_____________________________________________________________________

The tea had just finished as he heard Quatre come back inside. He turned around to see him looking absolutely miserable. That wasn’t good.

It took him a moment to realize that Quatre was holding the phone out to him. The green light indicated that Rashid was still on the call. The look Quatre gave him was one of morose resignation. That really wasn’t good.

With a wary expression, he took the phone from Quatre and handed him the cup of tea in trade. Quatre gave him a weak smile of appreciation before taking it to the couch in the living room. Trowa watched as he huddled under a blanket with Danny Dog climbing up to join him.

“Hello,” he asked distractedly, moving to a place in the kitchen with a better vantage point. He wanted to keep an eye on Quatre. Ever since the PTSD, curling up in heavy blankets had become a safe place for him during flashbacks or depression. Yeah, he might just be cold, but he could just as well be needing someone to pull him out of an episode.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rashid asked. Well, that was a bit harsher than he had expected. Trowa bristled. He understood Rashid’s paternal instinct to protect, but he resented the direction he felt the big man was going down.

“Right now?” he asked with more bite than he’d intended. “Trying to have tea and coffee. What did you say to him? He looks like you just told him his dog was dying.”

“Nothing he didn’t already know. I want to know what your intentions are.” A more measured response.

Trowa’s indignation got the better of him. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s any of your business to meddle in Quatre’s love life or mine for that matter. He’s an adult. He can do what he wants.”  
Rashid’s response was swift and full of paternal anger.

“When it takes him over a year of therapy to get over you and then _still_ be unable to say no when you come back around five years later, then his love life _does_ become my business.” His voice sounded like the deep rolling thunder that came before a storm. “He had a perfectly happy relationship with Thomas and their break up didn’t send him back into therapy. That should say something to you. I don’t want to see him hurt like that again, so I will repeat my question. What are your intentions?”

That stole the bluster he had pent up and he felt himself deflate. He watched in silence as Quatre continued to sit on the couch, tea untouched on the coffee table. The top of his blonde head was the only visible indication that it was him beneath the blanket. He wanted so very much to go over there and pull Quatre into his arms and soothe away whatever fears Rashid had unintentionally placed in him. Or the ones he’d put there himself.

His eyes dropped to the chilly tile under his feet. Rashid knew the guilt he felt over the breakup and knew how to leverage it too, apparently. “Last night kind of just happened,” he admitted before training his eyes back on Quatre. He sighed. “I just want him to be happy, Rashid. If not with me, fine, but I miss him. You know it’s why I don’t stay in town. He’s graduating in May. Maybe we have a shot this time.”

Rashid’s voice noticeably softened. “I’ll tell you what I told him. Before you guys get in too deep, make sure you know where you both stand and what you want. They might not be the same and that’s a problem. I’ve always liked you Trowa. Be careful with him.”

The tightness in his chest he hadn’t noticed until now eased slightly. “I will.” The call ended with a click. He stared at Quatre buried under a blanket with Danny Dog on the couch for awhile in silence before returning the phone to its place.

Quietly, he walked over to the couch and sat facing the mound of fleece. He could feel Danny Dog’s tail thump against his hip. Leaning one arm against the back of the couch, he tilted his head, trying to see into the blanket’s depth. “Quatre?”

____________________________

Quatre huddled within the warm folds of the blanket he'd pulled from the back of the couch. Danny Dog sat on his feet, trying to be as close to him as possible. His dogbone breath panted in his face. He was thankful for the warm fur covering his toes. Despite the socks he'd pulled on before stepping outside, the cold air had seeped through the thin material, and now his feet were freezing. After five years in Boston, one would think he wouldn't forget that snow was actually cold and that the February air was also still cold.

He wrapped his arms around his knees, dropping his head against them. He could hear the agitation in Trowa's tone as he spoke to Rashid, though he was taking care to keep his voice down. Not that it mattered really. Quatre was sure he was getting the same lecture he had gotten, albeit with a different tilt.

Rashid had stopped short of accusing Trowa of messing around for fun, but he did raise the question of what had prompted last night’s events. Thinking about it caused old insecurities he thought he’d laid to rest resurface. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was only a convenient distraction, a toy to be used and discarded on a whim the voice in his head had often told him.

He still loved Trowa. He could admit that to himself. Their breakup had been the product of a complex combination of factors. Their feelings for each other had not been in question, just the viability of a healthy, happy relationship within the given environment. He knew all that, yet part of him doubted whether Trowa cared for him in the same way as Quatre did for him. It had been five years after all. They had gotten ahead of themselves last night. Carried away by their complicated history. There had been no promises. No strings. No expectations.

Yet, he wanted Trowa to stay. With everything he had. But he doubted whether Trowa would stay or if he even wanted to. Logically, he knew it was the PTSD talking, his own mind tricking him into avoiding Trowa, causing him to push him away. Or at least, he hoped it was. There was the doubt, back again like an unwelcome friend. Doubt of Trowa’s feelings and doubt of his own ability to make emotional judgment calls.

It had been the same before. After being shot Quatre had fluctuated between hot and cold when it came to their feelings for each other. On some deep level, his mind had continued to connect the person he loved most with one of the most traumatic events in his life. The result had been continuous nagging doubts as to the sincerity of Trowa’s feelings for him. A lot of therapy had gone into working through the doubts and tricks his mind tried to play on him regarding Trowa.

Miraculously, Trowa had stuck around for it all, only to leave four and a half years later. The doubts had come back in spades, along with the depression and anxiety attacks. The loss he had felt at Trowa’s leaving had compounded with the loss of his father during the war, bringing about a whole new bag of issues he’d had to work through.

It seemed as if those tricks were once again back in play.

Somewhere, his mind registered the cold wetness of Danny Dog’s nose on his hand and the warm, gentle licks the dog was giving him. Normally, that would be enough to pull him out of whatever funk his brain had gotten him into. It didn’t work this time.

He couldn’t help the downward spiral his thoughts were taking him. He knew he should cut them off, but he couldn’t. He felt himself slipping.

The fear of losing Trowa again placed a heavy weight on his chest, constricting him, making it hard to breathe. Knowing Trowa’s track record of relationships, or lack thereof, brought Quatre closer to the conclusion that he wasn’t sticking around. Trowa never stuck around. And to be honest, Quatre had no reason to expect him to. It’s not like they were dating.

Tomorrow all those hotel rooms would start to empty and Trowa would be able to find a room like he always did. He might stick around Quatre’s place a little longer than that. Perhaps the rooms wouldn’t be as open as he expected, but it wouldn’t last. Eventually, he would leave. All for the best probably. It would be better to nip this in the bud before things went too far.

That meant another night, maybe two of Trowa’s company. He pulled the blanket around him and Danny Dog tighter. Everything about Trowa being here felt right, like it all fit together. They complemented each other so well. Balanced each other out. Losing him the first time had been hell, but at least he knew what to expect this time.

He couldn’t feel Danny Dog anymore. His hearing vanished. The world started to disappear. He felt the all too familiar embrace of loneliness and the urge to withdraw from everything.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Danny Dog whine, felt the collie’s long tongue on his hand. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as his senses returned. Trowa’s concerned voice filtered through the haze. “Quatre?”

He snapped his head up to meet Trowa’s worried face as realization set in. The blanket fell down across his shoulders, pooling around his waist. How long had he been lost for? He hadn’t been this bad in a long while.

At least he wasn’t cold anymore. Whether that was from the dog, the blanket, or embarrassment, he couldn't be sure.

Trowa had apparently said his name more than once. Quatre could see the concern in the crease of his brow, the fear in his searching eyes. Fear? Yes, that. He’d put that look on Trowa’s face before. Rashid’s too. More than once. Guilt for causing Trowa so much worry swept over him, threatening to pull him back down and away.

The warmth of Trowa’s hands framing his face reoriented him again. His voice, patient, and kind pulled him back. “Hey, Quatre. Come back to me.”

“Sorry,” was all he could bring himself to say. For the moment it seemed to be enough as he watched the tension melt away from Trowa. He didn’t resist as strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. Quatre was content to lay there in Trowa’s strong arms as he tucked his head into a shoulder. He felt Danny Dog shift enough to lay at the bottom of their feet.

“Where did you go?” Trowa asked quietly.

“Where I always go,” he replied softly. Lying took too much effort. Even he could hear the exhaustion in his voice. Certainly, Trowa would too.

___________________________________________________________________

Trowa squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the pity he felt for Quatre. The fatigue in his voice tore him apart. Coming back from a depressive episode had always required quite a bit of effort by the blonde, leaving him exhausted afterward. There had been times early on when he and Rashid had been afraid Quatre wouldn’t quite pull out of them.

Watching Quatre struggle to get back to a solid place had left a lasting impression on him along with a deep-seated concern whenever he had an episode. Even Quatre had later agreed that the anxiety attacks were easier to deal with than the depression.

He hugged him tighter. The dog typically helped reduce both the number of depressive episodes Quatre experienced and the severity of them. Apparently, that wasn’t the case this time. He had come back at least and seemed to be more present than he had been. A good sign.

“I’m here,” he whispered, running a hand idly through Quatre’s soft hair. The motion had always soothed him in the past.

“For how long?” came a drowsy response. The words tore through him like a bullet. Trowa stiffened, eyes wide, his hand paused above Quatre’s head mid motion. There had been no malicious intent to the words, but damn did they hurt. Not like he didn’t deserve it though. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if Quatre was even coherent enough so soon after an episode to fully grasp the implications of what he’d said. Quatre tended to be a little out of it for a day or two after an episode.

Maybe Rashid was right. Maybe he’d been right last night before he’d kissed Quatre when he told himself not to push. Maybe last night had been a mistake. He wanted to stay and Quatre obviously wanted him to stay as well, but he didn’t want to lead Quatre into thinking they would work only to fail, tearing his heart up in the process. He couldn’t do that to him again, even if he hadn’t meant to the first time. History didn’t have to repeat itself.

Quatre was a hopeless romantic. The guy would totally risk himself without thinking of any long-term personal effects. As the realist of the two, it was his job to put the brakes on when necessary. Like last time. With a sinking heart, he feared now might be one of those times. It might be prudent to stop this before it became a disaster if it wasn’t already.

A part of him rebelled against the notion. Logically speaking, no one could predict the future and they both still loved each other. Admittedly, last night had been a lustful whirlwind, but this morning? This morning had been quiet, relaxed, and natural. Like so many mornings they had shared together in years past.

Perhaps they didn’t have to make any existential relationship decisions today. Today Quatre needed to give Dr. Farlan a call, let her know what happened. Probably make an appointment too. He went back to stroking Quatre’s silky hair. The blonde seemed to have forgotten the question as he breathed deeply in his arms. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fallen asleep.

He looked down. Sure enough, Quatre’s eyes were closed, arms tucked in between them, one hand clutching Trowa’s shirt. He felt his heart squeeze at the sight. Maybe there was a chance they could make it through the next few months. After that, Quatre would have so much more time to himself, to a relationship.

Trowa pushed those thoughts away. Right now, Quatre needed Dr. Farlan. “Quatre,” he said, rubbing Quatre’s back in an attempt to wake him without startling him. He was answered with mumbling and a blonde head attempting to burrow further into his shoulder. He chuckled. Quatre was always difficult to rouse once he fell asleep. “Hey, wake up.”

After a minute or so of gentle coercion, Quatre started to wake. Trowa cupped his chin in his free hand, pulling Quatre’s face to meet his. He searched those big blue eyes of his and was relieved with what he saw there. Drowsiness, but also a clarity and a presence that hadn’t been there earlier. Seemed the worst of it was over for now. “You should go call Dr. Farlan,” he said.

He felt Quatre stretch beside him. “That would require moving.”

Trowa smiled. “For someone as industrious as you are, you can be a pretty lazy bag of bones.”

“Not my fault you’re comfy.”

Ah, so he was the reason. So much like before. He untangled himself from Quatre and carefully left the couch. To his credit, Quatre hardly pouted as he sat Indian style, waiting for him to come back. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed the phone off the receiver. “Think she’ll adjust your meds?” he asked.

“Might,” came a neutral reply as Quatre held his hand out for the phone. Trowa handed it over and Quatre began dialing the number he knew by heart. “Though they’ve been working just fine since she adjusted them last. I know we’re a touchy subject, but I honestly don’t think I should have had that bad of a reaction after Rashid’s call.”

“You took them this morning, didn’t you?”

Quatre’s head snapped up mid-dial to stare at Trowa. “Why wouldn’t I? I always take them. That’s the whole point of having them.” His voice was defensive and sharp.

Trowa held up a hand in peace. “I’m just asking. This morning couldn’t have been a normal one as far as your routine goes.” Quatre stared at him a moment, obviously going over things in his head. In a sudden flurry of motion, Quatre was on his feet and heading to the bedroom. Trowa and Danny Dog followed silently, save for the collie’s _pat-pat-pat_ of his paws on the hardwood.

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets as Quatre opened the nightstand drawer where he kept his meds along with the more fun items they had used the night before.

“Well shit.”

“You didn’t.”

Quatre stared at the small pills that occupied the Saturday block in the daily pill case. _Well, that explains a lot_ , he thought as Quatre looked up at him with a slightly guilty expression.

“Apparently not,” came a dumbfounded reply as he dumped the pills into his open hand. Trowa turned around and picked up Quatre’s now lukewarm tea that had been forgotten. He met Quatre halfway between the bedroom and the couch and handed the cup over. He was given a look of gratitude as Quatre took the offered tea.

“You should still call Dr. Farlan,” he said, hands back in his pockets. Quatre waved the phone he was still holding so Trowa could see it as he popped the pills and chased them down with the tea. Trowa smiled. Definitely feeling better already.

He turned around and walked towards the door, picking up his car keys and slipping his shoes over his feet. “I’m going to go get my suitcase while you do that,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Quatre had was sitting cross-legged on a chaise lounge currently bathed in warm sun. A distracted wave of the hand was all the acknowledgment he got.


	5. Chapter 4

Quatre hung up the phone. He was relieved, albeit slightly, that Dr. Farlan wasn’t going to adjust his meds. Not yet at least. Forgetting to take them had been his fault. Preoccupied with thoughts of Trowa had caused him to deviate from his routine. The worst of it was over. He was feeling better. He’d be a bit strained, a bit sensitive for a few days or maybe even a week, but overall, he should be fine. If he wasn’t, if he had more episodes, he could call her and she’d make the necessary adjustments.

She’d been rather surprised when he’d told her about Trowa. Surprised and concerned, but also hopeful. She knew better than anyone, even Rashid, how much he still loved Trowa. The guy might have broken his heart the first time (and he knew it hadn’t been any easier for him either), but logically, he could understand Trowa’s decision to leave. He might not have agreed with it, he still didn’t, but he could appreciate the logic of it and the concern from which it came from.

She’d cautioned him with optimistic trepidation. Even though he’d copped to spending a passion filled night and morning with Trowa, she wanted him to be careful. “Take things slow. Don’t just jump in with both feet,” she’d said. So similar to what Rashid had said. He hadn’t told her the part where Trowa’s apartment was currently being occupied by someone else for another month. Nor did he admit to hoping Trowa _wouldn’t_ get a hotel room for the duration.

The voice in his head agreed with her though and it made him nervous. His head had told him Trowa wouldn’t stick around. That voice had called it from the beginning when Trowa had walked through his front door in France all those years earlier. And it had been right. Four years delayed maybe, but right nonetheless. Trowa had dropped him. He’d been packed up and gone faster than Quatre had thought possible, and completely upended his world in the process.

All those years of therapy sessions, both with and without Trowa, working through the relationship obstacles his PTSD (and the voice in his head) placed on them...pointless. None of it had mattered anymore.

He had been lost then. The depression had gotten worse and he’d spiraled downward. Rashid had moved in, so as to keep an eye on him. His sister Iria and his close friend Duo both called frequently for the same reason and many sessions with Dr. Farlan were had, both in person and over the phone.

Everyone had been worried, except the voice. The voice had told him he’d be okay. That he could live and even be happy without Trowa. The voice had also reminded him that playing the pity card was beneath him. There was work to be done.

So he’d thrown himself back into work, both scholastic and professional. And with the love and support of Rashid, Iria, Duo, and Dr. Farlan, he’d managed to find solid ground again. It hadn’t been easy, but eventually, he’d gotten there. Rashid had always been like a lighthouse to him, a beacon of safety. Dr. Farlan, the ship that plucked him from the ocean that threatened to drown him, and Iria and Duo, the welcome sun on his shoulders.

And then there was Thomas. The steady companion who had never feared the depression or the anxiety attacks, the late sleepless nights or the lonely, tearstained mornings. Their romantic relationship seemed a natural progression from their close friendship. Something Quatre had been surprisingly unafraid of.

But the voice had called that one too. It had warned him they wouldn’t work out. That they were better friends than lovers. That Quatre was just displacing his emotions. The voice in his head might not have liked Trowa, but it didn’t approve of putting false hope on Thomas either.

He’d started taking the voice more seriously after that. Stopped thinking of it as an adversary.

Before Trowa had left, after over a year of trying to ignore the voice in his head, he’d confessed about it to Dr. Farlan. Shockingly enough, she hadn’t been overly concerned by it. Apparently, such types of hallucinations were not uncommon in trauma survivors. The voice hadn’t ever actually tried to convince him to do anything, good or bad, and seemed content with simply being a social commentator. The voice was his, yet separate from him. He’d never really understood it, but Dr. Farlan had reassured him that he wasn’t schizophrenic nor had he developed a split personality. It was just a part of his new normal.

So here he was, staring at a phone, about to jump off the deep end with Trowa and praying to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in that it wouldn’t end the same way it had last time. And trying to ignore the voice in his head.

Three months. They only had to get through three more months until he was free of school. And in all honesty, he felt he had more free time working on his doctorate than he had working on his bachelor’s or master’s degrees. Maybe he’d just finally figured his shit out or maybe he really did have more time, since his thesis was tied into what he was working on at WEI. Either way, maybe, as a couple, they wouldn’t sink this time.

But the voice was currently batting at 2 for 2 and Quatre couldn’t deny that the odds concerned him.

 _Shit_ , he thought as he realized how long he’d been sitting there, mulling inside his own head. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands in an attempt to focus. He needed to make the call to his security team before Trowa came back. When he did, they’d have to talk.

_____________________________________________________________________

Trowa could hear the violin from the elevator and some of the worry that had settled in him at leaving Quatre alone eased. Quatre playing was always a good thing. He paused as he reached for the door handle. The melancholy theme, the rolled arpeggios, and the complicated runs...He was playing Bach’s Chaconne.

He allowed his hand to drop to his side and stared at the door. Quatre was avoiding something. Avoiding _thinking_ about something to be more specific. Years ago, Quatre had taken up practicing the hellish piece as a way to direct his anxiety, when the situation allowed, to something more intellectually demanding.

Trowa set his duffle bag on the floor and leaned against the wall. He didn’t want to interrupt him, not when he was playing this particular piece. He had a pretty good idea what Quatre was trying to avoid. They were a difficult subject.

He had his own reservations about starting something new. They couldn’t erase the past and just start over. They had almost twelve years between them. Some of those good, some not as much. He might have been the one to end things last time, but the degradation of their relationship hadn’t been a solo act.

Neither of them wanted to cause hurt or be hurt again. Quatre may very well be on the far side of his education, with only a few months left, but his job was still demanding and high stress. His wasn’t much better either. Even if he stopped taking on additional assignments, he still had missions that could take him anywhere for any length of time. And time apart versus time together, fully and completely, had been a large factor in their breakup.

They’d been fortunate in that they’d been able to salvage a friendship from the tattered remains of their failed relationship. After four and a half years and a painful dissolution, that feat hadn’t been easy. If they got back together and broke up a second time...he feared they might not be able to pull that off again.

Quatre’s playing faded, signaling the end of the song. Trowa pushed off the wall, picked up his bag, and put his hand on the door handle. He heard a door open down the hall. The sound caused him to look up.

A girl in her early teens and her family left their condo and made their way to the elevator. The same family that had been next to Quatre since he’d moved in. The girl carried a violin. She smiled and waved. He couldn’t help but smile back. He made a motion as best he could with his bag hand before turning the handle and entering Quatre’s condo.

He saw Quatre, still sitting on the lounge where he’d left him. “It sounds better,” he commented. Quatre shrugged the compliment away.

“I can’t do it at speed and I still drop some of the accidentals.”

Trowa shook his head with a small smile as he left his bag next to the couch. The guy could never take a compliment. “The neighbors still pass song requests under your door?” he asked curiously. Quatre’s laugh was short, but light. The smile he got was honest.

“No. She graduated to knocking last year, but now she asks for the difficult ones. She’s actually fairly good on her own. Has a preference for Paganini,” he replied. “What took you so long anyway?”

“Just the car, which I need to take back soon. I got hung up talking with Phil, the security guard. He's got another kid. Did you know that? Anyway, I wasn't gone _that_ long.”

“I did know that, actually,” Quatre replied. “And you were gone long enough for me to call both Dr. Farlan, my tech security guys, _and_ get through the Chaconne,” he said, setting the violin carefully to the side. “We need to talk, Trowa,” he said quietly, the smile running away from his face.

“I know,” he agreed. He walked over and took a seat in front of Quatre, on the floor. It forced him to look up at Quatre, but it meant the blonde couldn’t avoid him either. “Let’s lay it all out on the table.”

He could see Quatre chew his bottom lip. Not a typical nervous habit of his. “We love each other,” he said softly. Trowa could hear the hesitation in his voice and it pulled at his heart. Of course, Quatre would have doubted that. They’d spent years of therapy getting him over that particular chestnut. Apparently, they hadn’t been completely successful.

“Of course we do,” he replied, looking into Quatre’s eyes. He hoped Quatre believed him. “It’s what makes what happened so difficult.”

“You left.” Trowa couldn’t help but wince. It was a charge, there was no denying it and it sent him back ten years to Quatre’s kitchen back in France. Quatre had been sulky, depressed, and not at all willing to talk about what was bothering him. He’d grabbed Quatre’s arm and pressed the issue. Quatre had rounded on him. A bundle of anger and pain, he’d lashed out. “I got shot,” he’d said. “I got shot and you left.”

Quatre wasn’t angry this time. Not anymore at least. Hurt still, yes, but not angry. The parallel struck him like a bucket of cold water. He’d never made the connection until now. Until he’d heard his lover quietly accuse him of the very same thing he’d already done once before.

Quatre had been hurt and confused when he’d left him at the hospital, right before he’d been discharged after barely surviving multiple gunshot wounds. Trowa had left to go after the man ultimately responsible for that, Castonev. As a result of the PTSD, and Trowa suspected the painkillers hadn’t helped either, Quatre had forgotten why Trowa had left.

Instead of going after the man who allowed him to get hurt, Quatre had thought Trowa had simply left, abandoning their budding relationship. It had taken two months of Quatre sinking into depression at home and an unexpected trip Rashid had been forced to take to bring them back together, which had led to the discovery of Quatre’s PTSD.

They’d been able to mend their relationship from that. It had taken a lot of work, but they’d been good together. That is until Quatre had burned out four and a half years later and Trowa had left, thinking, once again, that it was the right thing to do. Maybe it hadn’t been. Like with Castonev, maybe he’d been wrong. God knew he wasn’t infallible and there was the truth of it. Straight from Quatre’s mouth.

He’d left. For a second time. This wasn’t a second chance for him. It was a third and by the hopeful look in his eyes, Quatre was willing to risk himself again. No wonder Rashid had been so angry on the phone.

Trowa rubbed a hand over his face and he closed his eyes. Maybe Rashid was right. Maybe he wasn’t all that good for Quatre. _Fuck me._

Quatre’s low chuckle brought his attention back. His eyes flew open as he looked up into Quatre’s face. He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. The grin on Quatre’s face could have given the Cheshire Cat a run for his money though. “I already did.”

Trowa frowned. “That’s not funny,” he admonished.

“Really?” he asked. “I thought it was pretty good...The joke was funny too.”

Trowa let out an exasperated sigh and fixed Quatre with a withering look. Quatre raised his hands defensively, even as he threatened to burst into laughter. “Come on, it was right there. I couldn’t not.”

“Seriously, Quatre...” Trowa started. Quatre put his hands in his lap and looked down at him, once again donning his serious face. “I can make the same excuse as last time,” he said plaintively. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“I know.” A soft reply. Quatre understood him too well.

“What if I do it again?” he asked. He couldn’t keep the fear from his voice. They couldn’t reasonably keep up this pattern for the long run. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them and it would be downright cruel to Quatre. The last thing he wanted was to indiscriminately hurt the person he loved the most.

Quatre shrugged. His eyes were bright and his smile easy. When thinking of the future, he didn’t seem all that concerned. “You know where to find me.” The shocked expression on his face must have been obvious because Quatre rolled his eyes before meeting his gaze again.

“I love you Trowa. What else do you really want me to say?” he asked in exasperation that matched his own just a moment earlier. “I loved you during the war with the colonies, even if it took me a while to figure that out. I loved you _then_ , I loved you before _and_ after the Eurussian Incident, and I love you now.” Trowa could see the tears beginning to form under those long, blonde lashes.

“You want me to _not_?” Quatre asked, his voice cracking. “Well too bad. We’re both out of luck on that one. No one could possibly understand me or love like you do. I want you with me, but if you’re not…” he took a steadying breath, but the tears fell anyway. “In the end, I’ll be okay if you’re not, but we’re better together than we are apart.”

Trowa stared at him for a long moment as the entirety of what Quatre said sunk in. Quatre loved him. Completely and hopelessly. And Trowa loved him right back. For better or worse, they loved each other. Circumstances and his own idiocy had ripped them apart, but perhaps this time he’d learn from his mistakes. Quatre wasn’t wrong. They’d always been better, stronger, together.

Trowa cupped Quatre’s tear-stained face in his hands and pulled him down into a passionate kiss, careful just enough so as not to cause him to fall over.

______________________________________________________________________

Just like the night before, Quatre was surprised by Trowa’s kiss. He did have to catch himself onto the edge of the lounge to keep from falling over, though falling into Trowa’s arms didn’t seem like the worst idea (even if the voice in his head disagreed).

Slowly, Trowa pulled away, but only enough so they could look into each other’s eyes. “You’ve been watching pre-A.C. romantic comedies again, haven’t you?” he asked with a tight smile.

He coughed a laugh and more tears fell. He just couldn’t help it. “That’s not the point, you ass.”

“I know,” Trowa replied quietly, kissing him on the forehead and joining him on the lounge. He shifted, giving Trowa room so he wouldn’t accidentally sit on the violin. Trowa wiped the tears from his cheeks, then pulled him in close. He closed his eyes and listened to Trowa’s heart beat against his chest. The familiar rhythm was music to his ears.

He felt Trowa’s hand run through his hair. It was a familiar motion. “What does the voice in your head say?” Trowa’s voice reverberated through him.

He chuckled. Ah, how Trowa knew him...and the voice in his head. “The voice in my head can fuck off.” Trowa’s laugh was deep and warm and wrapped around him like a blanket. “I think you should stay,” he added after a while. He could feel Trowa brace, so he pulled away, and looked at him. “Not permanently. Not so soon, anyway. Just while your place is still being subleased.”

“I can find somewhere else, Quatre. I’ll be fine,” he replied. The look on Trowa’s face scared Quatre and he could feel his anxiety kick in. He looked like he was ready to run again, like the idea of staying was too much.

“I know,” he conceded. He didn’t want him to leave, even just to a hotel. He needed him close. For a while at least. “It just seems pointless, especially since it’s only for a month. Once you subleaser is gone, you can go back like you’d planned originally.”

Trowa considered him carefully, seeming to weigh his options. Then his face softened. “So off the deep end, we go?”

Quatre gave him a small smile. “Only for a month.”

Trowa returned the smile and offered his hand and he took it, threading their fingers together. “Alright then. One month, then I go back to my apartment, and we figure the rest out as we go.”

 _Sorry, Dr. Farlan_ , he thought as he nodded agreement. Off the deep end, they went indeed. Time would tell if they would sink or swim. “What time is it anyway,” he asked, looking around the room, trying to find a clock. He hadn't put his watch on this morning and he needed to check the time.

“Sometime between noon and one,” Trowa replied. He sounded a bit confused at his sudden redirection. “Why?”

Reluctantly, he let go of Trowa’s hand. “Cassie’s coming over soon,” he answered as he stood up and collected his violin.

“Cassie, as in dead brother Cassie?” came the clarifying question.

Quatre winced as he opened the glass instrument case that housed his other violins. He knew he wouldn't be able to get that past him. “Yes, that Cassie.”

“You’re still friends with her?” Trowa asked incredulously. “You know that's going to end badly, don't you?” It sounded more like a statement rather than a question. Trowa’s tone was sharp and disapproving. “You're asking for trouble.”

“She's a nice person, Trowa, and crazy smart. She’s helping me with my thesis, making sure my calculations are on point.”

“She's the younger sister of a guy you killed.”

Trowa was referring to Cassie Selders, an astrophysics student at MIT, currently working on her own doctoral thesis. They’d met when he was a senior, about to graduate with his Bachelor’s. They had the same engineering friends and had become fast friends themselves.

Eventually, Quatre had learned that Cassie’s older brother had been a soldier with OZ and stationed in the colonies for his understanding of space engineering. His last deployment had been on the colony that Quatre had destroyed with Wing Zero. In the days following the attack, he had been confirmed among the dead.

The realization had sent him down an anxiety-filled rabbit hole. He’d had a full on the panic attack after learning the news. He’d been able to explain it away thanks to his panic disorder, but being around Cassie after that had felt unclean, deceptive. Trowa had suggested avoiding her and ending the friendship, but avoiding her had proved a fruitless exercise. They simply shared too many of the same engineering classes.

In the end, her friendliness had worn down his stubborn attempt at keeping his distance. Hanging out with her always yanked at the shard of guilt he carried over the Wing Zero incident. Quatre thought it a small price to pay and maybe a little bit karmic.

Quatre shot an annoyed look in Trowa’s direction. “I know who she is, Trowa,” he said sternly.

“Really? Are you sure?” Trowa asked. He stood up and walked over until they were within a foot of each other. “Because I have a hard time figuring out how a smart guy like you can _possibly_ think this is a good idea.” Quatre carefully put the violin away and closed the case. He took the moment to take a breath. He appreciated the concern, but Trowa had no room to chastise him for his choice of friends.

“What did you expect me to do?” he asked, trying to keep his voice mild as he faced Trowa. He placed his hands in his pockets, a neutral stance. The last thing he wanted was to fight over a friendship he developed during the years Trowa had been gone. “We have the same friends. It’s not like I could avoid her and I looked like an obnoxious dick trying to get her to dislike me. Everyone called me on it. Acting _that_ out of character was suspicious enough.”

“You can be a hardass when you want to.”

He smirked. There was some truth to that. “To employees who don’t do their jobs,” he agreed. “Not everyone else.”

“Have you told Marney at least?”

He gave Trowa a quizzical look. “Why? Marney isn’t cleared to know I’m a Gundam pilot.”

“So you recognize that this could blow up in your face and she _should_ know?”

He fixed Trowa with an exasperated look, though his boyfriend, lover, whatever he was, didn’t seem to pay it any mind. “Our records are sealed,” he reminded him. “Unless I confess my sins, she won’t find out, and there’s no way I’m letting that information slip. Not to her.” He dropped his gaze and looked at the floor. “I just have to suck it up and deal with the guilt of it.”

“Quatre…” Trowa said his name softly and his head snapped back up, sheepishly meeting Trowa’s pitying face. “That’s a little masochistic.” His voice was soft, warm, and full of concern.

He shrugged. He didn’t have a satisfactory response to that. Trowa was probably right. “Anyway,” he said, quickly sidestepping Trowa. “I’m taking a shower before she gets here. I’d rather not smell like sex while working on my thesis.”

The doorbell rang.

He paused in his tracks and dropped his head to his chest with a groan. Trowa’s chuckle was wickedly deep. A shiver rippled through his body. His nerves stood on end and he distinctly remembered what had been left unfinished earlier. “Guess you’re going to have to deal,” Trowa whispered in his ear. He groaned again, this time in frustration.

They walked to the door together. At least they both looked semi-presentable, though Quatre’s indie rock shirt overlaid with his oversized sweater was obviously mismatched and noticeably atypical of him. Oh well, wasn’t much help for it now. Trowa reached the door first and pulled it open.

A tall, slender brunette with wavy hair and librarian style glasses rushed in quickly enough that she didn’t even notice the additional male presence. “Holy mother of God,” she said in a huff. “The sun might be out, but dear God in Heaven is it cold.”

Quatre smiled. “Morning Cassie,” he said.

She glanced up at him, offering a distracted though correct “Afternoon,” before setting her briefcase and purse against the wall. Quatre waited. He knew she’d figure it out eventually. “I think we’re missing some data, Quatre...” she started to say. She always did get right down to business.

Trowa closed the door quietly behind her, causing her to pause mid-sentence. She straightened up as she shed her fitted wool coat, twisting in Trowa’s direction. A surprised “Oh,” escaped her as she noticed him. She had a pretty heart shaped face and a bright, smart look to her. Her high fashion attire spoke of money. It was obvious that she ran in the same high-class circles that Quatre did.

She would typically dress business casual when she came over to help him though. If she was dressed to the nines like this, mid-day, on a weekend, Quatre figured she probably had somewhere fancy to go after she got done with him.

She blinked several times with her doe-like brown eyes. She looked back to him. “Quatre?”

He didn’t even try to hide his amused expression. He pulled a hand out of his jeans and motioned between the two. “Trowa, Cassie. Cassie, Trowa.”

She considered him for a moment before turning around and shaking Trowa’s offered hand. The order in which they had been addressed hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Ah,” she said, remembering where she’d heard the name. “You’re the ex.”

Trowa’s tight smile held a mixture of irritation and mild amusement. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m the ex.” Cassie looked between the two of them knowingly. “Alright, well, we’ve got work to do, so let’s get at it,” she said as she picked up her case and took it to the kitchen table.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Trowa told him quietly before leaving them alone to do their work. Quatre sighed. Since when did Trowa become such a worrier? He was the one with the nervous disorder, not Trowa. He shrugged the thought away and went to join Cassie at the table.


	6. Chapter 5

Sunday morning came bright and early. Quatre's alarm blared in his ear at five a.m. Groggily, he slapped the thing quiet. He could feel Trowa’s warm body next to his, laying on his stomach, face shoved in the crevice between their two sets of pillows. Not sure how that was comfortable, but whatever.

Quatre rolled over, away from the alarm clock and closer to his lover. Half-consciously, Trowa shifted, rolling onto his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him in close. Trowa rested his head against his shoulder as they both fell back asleep.

Fifteen minutes later the alarm yelled at him again, this time louder than the first. He groaned. He knew it was time to get up. He had a lot of work to do, but Trowa was warm and the bed was comfy. They’d been up late the night before and he was already regretting the lack of sleep, as he’d known he would.

With the alarm still making its awful racket, he reluctantly pulled away from Trowa’s warm embrace. Another solid whack and the alarm was silenced once again. This time for good. He yawned as he sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I forgot how early you get up,” Trowa groaned. “Even on a Sunday.”

He smiled, twisting to look at Trowa as he pulled a pillow over his head. For a guy who had spent half his life waking up before the dawn and working well into the night, whether as a mercenary or as a circus performer, he certainly had adapted well to a more normalized work schedule. Sure he still had to pull some crazy hours while on missions, but when he was home he actually got to have a routine. Which didn’t usually include waking up at five a.m.

“Go back to sleep,” Quatre told him quietly.

He slipped out of bed and Danny Dog, who had climbed onto the bed sometime during the night, hopped off and slowly padded after him as he walked into the bathroom. A quick shower, then jeans, socks today, a yellow turtleneck (one of the few non-oversized sweaters he owned), and finally a pair of running shoes and he was ready to take Danny Dog out for his morning walk. Trowa was already back to snoring beneath the pillow that still rested on top of his head.

_Well, that didn’t take long_ , he thought as he gestured for Danny Dog to follow him out of the bedroom. “Only a couple more months of these crazy hours,” he told the collie as he clipped the leash on his collar and put Trowa’s coat on. It was warm and smelled like him.

Fifteen minutes later both dog and human all too willingly returned to the condo. Danny Dog made a beeline for the bedroom once he was untethered. “Traitor,” he muttered under his breath as he hung up the coat. The sight pulled at his heart though, truth be told. Danny Dog had grown up with Trowa and him together. The collie had sulked right along with him in the early months of their breakup. As much as Quatre was happy that Trowa was back, apparently so too was Danny Dog.

Quatre prepped the automatic coffee maker for 9:15, figuring Trowa might resist crawling out of bed a little before fully entering the waking world. By six, he brought a light breakfast of toast, fruit, and orange juice into his office started to work on his doctoral thesis.

Several hours later, his cell phone rang. He picked it up automatically, without bothering to look at it, cradling it between his ear and his shoulder as he continued to type on the computer. “Hello?”

“Morning, Quatre.”

He paused, then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it in confusion. He recognized the voice, but he couldn’t place it. “Morning…” he responded tentatively. Her voice was bright and amused. It wasn’t Cassie and it wasn’t any of his sisters, though he’d gotten a steady stream of texts from them over the last twenty-four hours asking about Trowa and that picture.

“It really is a nice picture,” she said. He heard something paper-sounding flap against something hard-sounding. His memory started to piece things together.

“Joline?”

“You remember me,” she replied, still sounding amused. “You’re a difficult person to get a hold of.”

“Apparently not,” he said dryly. He was surprised she was calling, nor did he know why. Since that first interview, she’d gone from a production assistant to associate producer back on the colony and had even filled in on the anchor desk a few times. She’d been named a rising star in the news casting business a couple years ago. She was a hard core journalist though. Gossip rags were beneath her. It didn’t make sense that she was calling because a picture of him and his reconciled boyfriend made the cover of social commentary.

Either way, he was impressed. It wasn’t easy to get a hold of his personal number. “How'd you get this number?”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss my sources. You know that.”

“It’s my phone number, not some super secret documentation proving we’re talking to aliens,” he replied sarcastically.

“You’re talking to aliens?” she asked. He could still hear the smile in her voice. “You specifically or your company? Are you still seeing your therapist?” He smiled. At least she could take a joke and just like he’d remembered, she could dish it right back. He’d always liked that about her, even if she had hit him below the belt during that interview on the colony, but Marney was likely to yell at him when she found out he was actually entertaining a call from a reporter without her green light.

“If only you dabbled in crazy conspiracy theories.” He turned around in his chair, looking out across the great Charles River as the morning sun sparkled off its surface. He never got tired of the view. Maybe he should buy a boat. Commander Sada Ul’s had been a blast to sail. That had been...geez, seven years ago. But then, he was graduating in a couple months. He wasn’t sure he’d even still be on Earth this time next year.

“I’m not calling to talk about aliens or even you and your handsome boyfriend,” she told him, getting down to business. Her voice forced him to focus on the present, rather than worry about the future.

“I wouldn’t think so,” he replied.

“Still graduating this year?” she asked.

“If you let me get back to my work, maybe.”

“Are you moving back home to the space colony or do you plan on staying in Boston and run things remotely?”

Home. He’d lived his last ten years on Earth. Almost nine of those in Boston. Sure the colony was home to some degree. He’d been raised there for fifteen years. Half his life. But the other half, the half that had seen him evolve from a rather well-accomplished teenager into an even more capable grown individual, had been here. Boston was home too.

“You know you should really be fielding any questions through Marney,” he told her, trying to avoid the topic.

“Don’t dodge the ques...”

He pressed on, ignoring whatever she’d started to say. “But of course you _did_ , which is why you somehow stalker-ishly got _my_ cell number.”

“It’s a pertinent question, Quatre,” she insisted. “Your company is based out of this colony. What you do affects the local economy. You have a responsibility to these people and I’m sure it’s difficult to manage all that you do from where you are.”

“I know exactly what my responsibilities are,” he replied shortly. There was bite in his words. “I don’t need you to lecture me on what they are.” He turned back around in his chair to face the computer and massaged his forehead with his free hand. He closed his eyes. Damn, she knew how to press his buttons. Or maybe he was just exhausted. After nine years of juggling everything...maybe he was finally burnt out enough that his walls weren’t as strong as they used to be.

Joline was silent on the other side of the phone for a long moment. They really didn’t know each other, not past their mutual understanding of each other they had mapped out in WXKY’s hair and makeup room so many years before, but she knew she’d stepped on shaky ground.

“Off the record?” he asked, dipping his head and running his hand through his hair.

“Sure. Off the record.”

“Off the record...I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to, whether I want to or not.”

“Sounds like you don’t,” she said. Her voice had taken a softer tone and it reminded him of Iria.

He turned back around and once again looked out across the river. It really was beautiful. The colony didn’t have views like this. He smiled. “Call me sentimental, but I do love the Earth.”

“Enough to be a pirate?”

Quatre couldn’t help but laugh out loud. That had been a fun year. In his spring semester of his sophomore year at MIT, he’d splurged and taken sailing and archery. Two of four courses that one needed to be officially certified as an MIT pirate. He’d signed up for fencing and rifle shooting as well, but he’d been able to test out of those. In one semester, and only months before he and the other former Gundam pilots had taken Commander Sada Ul’s pleasure speed boat up and down the Red Sea for a week, he’d been officially certified as an MIT “pirate”.

“How did you learn about that?” he asked, once again highly amused. He had to admit, she had good sources. “I have to confess though, I’m starting to feel a little targeted here.”

“Don’t,” she replied with a laugh of her own. “It kind of just came up in conversation several years ago. I’m not a gossip columnist, so I’m a bit surprised I even remember it. Anyway, the source said you tested out on the first day. Best shot in the class too.”

He chuckled. “What can I say? Rashid took me to the shooting range and my hand-eye coordination is pretty good. The fencing was Father’s doing.”

“On the record, I know you’ve paved your own path, stubbornly sometimes, against your Father’s influence. Do you think that’s why you won’t commit to coming back to the colony?”

He turned back around again and smiled. He could see Trowa looking utterly bedraggled, shuffling over to the coffee pot. He’d been so engrossed in his conversation, he hadn’t even noticed the smell of the coffee brewing. Apparently, it had been enough to pull his lover out of bed. “You had to ruin it,” he teased as he watched Trowa pour a cup and head in his direction. “We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation until you went back to doing your job.”

“Unlike some people, I don’t have a trust fund to fall back on if I get fired,” she shot back toothlessly. “The people of the L4 colony want to know how your decision will affect them. They deserve an answer.”

Trowa was almost in earshot. The guy was skeptical of reporters, more so than Marney. Whereas Marney was paid to carefully craft the company’s message to the public through various channels, including working with the press in partnership, Trowa saw them as an adversary. Trowa was very similar to Rashid in that regard. Always looking to protect him, even from nosy journalists. Just like Marney though, he wouldn’t approve of him talking to a reporter. “Call Marney,” he told her. “I have homework to do.”

“Who was that?” Trowa asked, leaning against the doorframe as Quatre hung up the phone. He sipped his coffee while staring at him intently.

“You don’t want to know,” he replied, swiveling around in his chair enough to get out of it and walk toward his boyfriend. Calling him that again still had a slightly intoxicating effect on him. Trowa was bare chested this morning, despite the chill, showing off his strong muscles and toned physique. He wore a pair of plain pajama pants which spoke to the side of him that actually enjoyed sleeping in on weekends.

“Nor does it matter,” Quatre added, weaseling his way around Trowa’s coffee arm to press against him. He slid his arms up Trowa’s sides before wrapping them around the guy’s waist. Trowa smiled down at him adoringly. The guy was apparently in a good enough mood to let the matter drop.

Trowa wrapped his free hand around his own waist and Quatre closed his eyes as Trowa kissed him on the bridge of his nose. “Have enough time for a coffee break?” Their eyes found each other. The warmth and contentment there, the love, was enough to wipe away all his concerns for the future. As long as Trowa was with him, everything else didn’t matter.

He glanced back at his computer, then back into the green eyes that had captured his heart back at Corsica all those years ago. “So long as I’m back to work by ten.” Trowa dropped his arm from his waist as they both turned around and left the office, their fingers twining lightly together as they went.

______________________________________________________________________

Trowa continued to nurse his cup of coffee as he looked out the floor to ceiling window as Quatre made some tea. He understood why Quatre was so attached to this place. From up here, you could see all of Boston. He half-turned, watching Quatre as he busied about the kitchen.

Trowa had followed him here, to this city. Quatre hadn’t asked him to. He doubted the guy would ever ask him to make any sort of sacrifice for him, but he’d done it anyway. They’d only been dating a few months when Quatre had decided on MIT. Either way, he would have been moving to the U.S. and that would have required a transfer in Preventer bureaus or an end to their relationship. So, less than a year in and he’d followed Quatre halfway around the world.

Nine years later, here they were, potentially facing another big move in a few months. Trowa took a long pull of his coffee. Quatre hadn’t mentioned whether he was going to stay in town or go back up to the colony. It was going to be something they’d have to talk about eventually. His guess was that Quatre would have to sell this place and move back home, run things from the family mansion, utilize his father’s old office. _That idea certainly won’t sit well with him._

The sound of Danny Dog letting out a loud huff as he plopped down on his doggie bed pulled his attention away from the expansive vista below him. Danny Dog’s bed sat near the electric fireplace and Quatre had turned it on as he had passed the living room while en route to start the tea. Trowa smiled and shook his head slightly. It really hadn’t been cold this morning. Maybe a bit on the chilly side, but Quatre was still a wimp about cold weather and good ol’ Danny Dog had long since adapted to his human’s temperature gauge. The collie seemed to like the fire about as much as Quatre did.

He walked over with the intention of showering the pup with some attention but got distracted by a picture on the mantle, sitting right next to a picture of an adorable four-year old Quatre hanging on his father’s arm. That particular picture had resided on the mantel since Quatre had moved in. Apparently, it had sat on his father’s desk at the Winner family mansion. After he’d died, Quatre had taken the picture with him. Despite their differences and their arguments, Quatre still cherished his father and by all accounts, his father had never stopped loving his insubordinate son.

On some level, Trowa had always envied that about him. Quatre and Wufei had actually grown up in loving families. Not without their own problems, but loving nonetheless. He’d grown up with no one. Always self-reliant, even with the mercenary unit that raised him. As much as he hated to admit it, there were times where he got a little jealous of Quatre and his family and the memories he shared with his sisters.

Quatre’s sisters had welcomed him readily enough, those whom he’d met anyway. Cathy was the closest thing he had to family and she was a one person act. He’d never had the experience of being integrated into such a large family and the Winner women had done so with a touching amount of warmth and love. He’d even overheard a few of them compliment their younger brother on the blonde’s catch when they had thought he was out of earshot.

The flattery had amused him every time he’d heard it and it amused him now, even as he tore his eyes off the sentimental picture of Quatre and his father and focused on the picture that had originally caught his attention.

He picked it up reverently. From the long, flowing, platinum blonde hair and the big blue eyes to the same facial structure as the guy he shared a bed with...He was looking at Quatre’s mother. Caught in laughter, she looked radiant, full of life and happiness. Attired in a white dress, gorgeously accented with gold thread, and red beading and jewels that glittered over every inch of the dress, weaving intricate patterns. The veil that covered her hair, fastened in place by diamond pins, draped beautiful rubies across her forehead.

Quatre’s father was at her side, looking much younger and less burdened than he seemed in Quatre’s childhood picture. He looked handsome in his long, fitted Middle Eastern coat. The white suit was also embroidered in gold down the middle where the coat clipped together and along the sleeve cuffs. Complementing the people wearing them, Zayeed Winner’s suit was a more reserved match to his wife’s sparkling gown.

There was no mistaking what this picture was. This was a wedding picture.

Quatre hadn’t told him about it. He’d never seen it before, even when he’d just been in this condo back in September. This was new. It wasn’t like Quatre, not to mention such an important memento.

Something else on the mantelpiece caught his eye. A black book inlaid with gold. There was no title, but he knew what it was. A Quran. Placed slightly behind the pictures of Quatre’s parents, it wasn’t hidden, but it wasn’t exactly out in the open either.

He set his coffee mug to the side and with his newly freed hand, he opened the book where it lay, revealing some of the pages. It was in Arabic. Not an English version in which the original language’s nuance might become lost in translation. The artistry that accompanied the words were breathtaking. The pages resisted his hand slightly, showing infrequent use, but they weren’t stiff enough to be untouched.

He was confused. Quatre wasn’t a practicing Muslim. The Quran was staunchly anti-homosexual, a main sticking point for the guy. In the twelve years they’d known each other, Quatre had never expressed an interest in Islam. He’d certainly never owned a Quran.

Trowa carefully closed the religious book and looked into the kitchen.

“Quatre?” he called gently.

“Yeah?” came a distracted reply. Trowa didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t form words in his mouth. So he stood there, staring mutely at his lover in the kitchen while he held Quatre’s parents’ wedding picture in his hand and questions about the Quran on the mantel swirled inside his head.

Quatre turned around, about to join him in the living room when he noticed what he was holding. He stopped, looking a little stunned himself. “Oh.” After a moment’s pause, he started walking again, making a beeline for the sofa. “Yeah, that’s new,” he said, sitting down carefully so as not to spill his tea.

Trowa placed the picture back in its place on the mantel and picked his coffee mug back up, though he discarded it on the coffee table as he sat facing Quatre on the sofa. His lover also turned to face him, propping an elbow on the back of the couch and resting his head in his hand. “Remember when I had typhoid?” Quatre asked.

“Yeah.” He did.

A couple years ago Quatre had caught the illness from an asymptomatic carrier of the disease. Quatre’s doctoral thesis advisor had become worried about his several absences from school and had called Quatre’s friends to check on him. Having a spare key to the condo for emergency circumstances, Malcolm, a friend and a medical doctor, had gone to check on the young CEO. He’d found Quatre dangerously ill and had immediately rushed him to Massachusetts General Hospital, where he’d been admitted to the intensive care unit.

Trowa had been at the airport about to board a flight to South Africa when Rashid had called him. His legs had almost given out beneath him as Quatre’s trusted confidante and former legal guardian informed him of his deteriorating condition. He’d heard the strain and the fear in the big man’s voice and he’d known too, that both their thoughts returned to an underground garage in China seven years previous. They might not have been dating anymore, but Trowa’s heart had never left the blue eyed blonde. The thought of Quatre being so ill ripped at his heart and sunk fear into his bones.

He hadn’t boarded his flight. Instead, he’d called his boss as he hailed a cab and told him the situation. If the man had a problem with him staying by Quatre’s side at the hospital, he could have his resignation effective immediately. Thankfully, the man wasn’t unreasonable and had granted him an immediate stay of marching orders so he could attend to personal matters.

He’d arrived at the hospital before everyone else. Thomas, also an ex-boyfriend of Quatre’s was on a flight back from out of town. Rashid and Iria were both en route also. So he’d been alone. Quatre had been placed on a ventilator to help ease his breathing. The image had been freakishly similar to China where Quatre had barely survived multiple gunshot wounds, put there by the fugitive Castonev’s sadistic sociopath of a nephew, Nicholas Kozlov.

Quatre had experienced a few close calls while being treated for the Typhoid, scaring everyone half to death, but he’d pulled through in the end. By sheer stubbornness or the grace of God, Trowa wasn’t sure. He’d been grateful either way.

Quatre looked down into his tea, looking for all the world as if he was working up the gumption for something. After several long moments, he still hadn’t let out what he was so obviously needing to say. Trowa dipped his head, trying to meet Quatre’s eyes from beneath those long bangs of his. “Quatre…”

Quatre’s eyes shot up to meet his. He saw hesitation there. “I met Father,” he blurted out in a nervous rush. Trowa stared at Quatre for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. He was a bit stunned. He hadn’t expected that, though Quatre had coded and stories recounting near death experiences after such incidents weren’t a new concept.

He wasn’t sure what the proper response was to something like that. What was he supposed to say? Was he even supposed to say anything at all? Quatre obviously wasn’t comfortable talking about it. His boyfriend looked down once again, hands fiddling with his cup self-consciously. “We were at the Esplanade at Lederman Park where it meets Fielder’s Field.”

_Well, that’s specific_ , he thought silently as he waited for Quatre to continue. Quatre was slow with information and what he was sure were only minutes ticking by felt like ages. He could see Quatre mulling things over in his head, working through what he wanted or needed to say. Prudence suggested to Trowa that he might not need to say much of anything, but rather simply listen.

“Mother was there too.”

“What?” His voice rose towards the end in surprise. So much for not saying anything. His eyes went wide in shock. Quatre had never known his mother. Growing up, Quatre’s family had hardly ever mentioned her in front of him, an issue Quatre hadn’t quite gotten over.

Quatre huffed a laugh, glancing up at him again. “I know, right.” His eyes were bright and warm, almost amused even, rather than sullen and lost, despite the heavy subject matter. Difficult memories typically pulled Quatre into depressive episodes. Talking about them was healthy and good self-therapy, but such discussions always required a fair bit of aftercare in order to make sure sensitive Quatre didn’t go the wrong way down the rabbit hole.

“She didn’t stay long though,” Quatre continued. A sad smile dusted his face. His eyes looked as if they were seeing something far away. “She was with him, laughing with him. I’d never seen him laugh like that before. So carefree…” His voice sounded wistful and bordering melancholy. He picked himself back up though, reorienting himself on solid footing as Trowa gently ran a comforting hand through his blonde hair. “Anyway, the closer I walked to Father, the farther away she went...until she disappeared altogether.”

“She didn’t stick around?” He had to admit, if he’d had a near death experience and his parents were within reach, he’d want to meet them both too.

“I really wanted her to. Father said once I start talking to her, that’s it. There’s no coming back from that. So, if you start hearing me talking to Mother in my sleep or something...” he said with a discordantly positive tone as he tipped his head and took a sip of his tea. Trowa frowned. He really didn’t want to think about the implication he’d just made. “Just saying,” Quatre said in response to his obvious reaction.

“May I ask what you talked about?” he asked with more than a little trepidation. He didn’t want to overstep, but he couldn’t deny he was curious, especially when Quatre was in a rare mood to talk about his father.

Quatre’s body tensed beside his. “What do you think we did? We fought,” came a slightly bitter response and for a moment Trowa regretted asking. A moment later though, Quatre let the residual anger and resentment melt away with a sigh. “He chastised me for not going to the doctor sooner.”

He had to hand it to Quatre’s dead father, that was completely valid.

“He’d said I was dying,” Quatre continued softly. “And then we talked about Mother. Apparently, she played the violin as well. All my musicality is hers. We talked about you...and Thomas, briefly. He told me to pray and lectured me about the war and going off to fight.” Quatre shrugged. “Broken record and all. And then I yelled at him.”

Trowa’s eyebrows lifted up in shock. Knowing Quatre’s personality and hearing the way Quatre talked about his father, albeit rarely, he’d never sounded like the type to raise his voice at his father. Argue, yes. Disobey, definitely. Quatre’s big blue eyes looked up into his, an equally shocked expression written on his own face. “I just lost it, Trowa. I’ve never spoken to him like that before. I literally took him to town for…” he took a shaky breath, “for railing against me for fighting in the war, for my part in everything...I mean, he didn’t mention the ZERO system incident _specifically_ , but he had to have known about it…”

“I yelled at him for getting himself blown up,” he said quietly tears began to form, though he stubbornly blinked them away. “He just...gave up, Trowa...and I’ve never forgiven him for it.” He turned his face away, no longer looking at him or the now surely cold teacup in his hand. “I’ve tried. I have. I just...can’t.”

“All the things he’s missed…” Quatre shook his head. “I still really want to know if he even _considered_ that before he disconnected the satellite, whether or not he thought about what it would do to us. He never really answered me and everything went dark and he disappeared before I could get an answer.

Trowa sat quietly as Quatre talked. It was evident that he still had unresolved issues with his father. Had unanswered questions. Trowa had always known that Quatre continued to feel the loss of his father, even if he didn’t talk about it. It seemed as if he was finally, after all these years, beginning to see just how deep that hurt went.

For once he felt that he was luckier than the man he loved. The longing to have parents, to grow up surrounded by the love of a real family was a dull thing. How can you truly miss something that you never had in the first place? He had Cathy and the other Gundam pilots. He had Quatre and, by association, his gaggle of sisters and Rashid. With nothing to compare to, he considered his life almost perfect, surrounded by love and companionship. During the war, he hadn’t lost anything but had gained everything. Quatre hadn’t been so lucky.

Quatre took a shaky breath and continued. “Anyway, after that happened, I asked Iria for a picture of Mother.” His blue eyes looked up and to the side as he remembered a memory. “Less asked than demanded,” he confessed, once again looking at him.

“That was two years ago,” he reminded him. He spoke softly, treading carefully. The last thing he wanted in this moment was to be indelicate. “That picture’s much newer than that.”

“I know. She gave me another one to placate me. It’s in the office on my desk. That,” he said, motioning toward the mantel with his tea cup. “That was a Christmas gift. Apparently, she’d been looking for it since I’d asked. She finally found it.”

“And the Quran?” he asked gently.

Quatre smiled sheepishly and tipped his head to the side slightly. “Call it an exercise in nostalgia.”

“So not practicing then?”

“Nope,” came a rather unexpectedly cheerful response. “Still very much agnostic.”

“I think,” he mused, “as a race, we need to believe in something bigger than ourselves.” Quatre looked him in the eyes again. “We are one of the very few, if not _the only_ species on Earth that actually asks ourselves questions like ‘what is the meaning of life’, ‘what happens to us after we die’, ‘is there life after death’, and ‘ _is there something greater than ourselves out there_ ’. We are _the_ apex predator on Earth, but I don’t think we can handle the idea that we’re _it._  That there isn’t anything higher than us and that there isn’t actually anything that miraculously has the answers to everything.”

Quatre looked back down at his cup. “The world is scary and cruel and unfair. Society has always needed something to explain what doesn’t make sense. Religion has always been that something.”

Trowa shifted, mirroring his lover, propping an elbow against the back of the sofa and resting his head in his hand. He could stop the grin from forming on his face. He’d always thought Quatre incredibly attractive when he argued theology. The guy certainly sounded like an academic. “So, you’re saying religion, _all_ religion, is just a giant sociological coping mechanism?”

“The simplest answer is typically the most correct,” Quatre replied as he took another sip of his now cold tea. His voice carried a note of victory and his eyes playfully dared him to argue. Trowa didn’t take the bait. He wasn’t much for religion either.

Quatre looked at his watch. “It's almost ten,” he said with a hint of regret. “I need to get back to work.”

“Only a couple more months,” he reminded him.

“It’s what I keep telling myself,” Quatre said, rolling his eyes. Quatre let out a preparatory huff before pushing himself off the sofa.

“I should go take the car back,” he mused, picking up the newspaper that sat on the coffee table and looked over the headlines. Quatre had had obviously gone through it earlier in the morning. The sports section had been left abandoned off to the side. Quatre had never been much of a sports fan.

“I didn’t even get a chance to drive it,” Quatre said, sounding genuinely disappointed.

Trowa peered at his lover over the top of the paper in his hand. He remembered yesterday _very_ well. Cassie had worked with Quatre for a little over an hour and a half before leaving. Afterward, he and Quatre had finished what Rashid had so deftly interrupted. And then they’d started up again and again and again. They’d spent the vast majority of the day in bed together. So much like in the early years of their romance when they’d been horny, love sick teenagers. Enough so that Trowa had called the rental company to tell them he’d be bringing the car back on Sunday. For the extra fee, the company didn’t seem to mind.

“We weren’t exactly confined to the bedroom. You had options.”

Quatre looked up, remembering the afternoon and the evening. “Yeah…” He looked as if he were debating with himself. He threw Trowa an impish smile (he’d picked that up from Duo). “I should have driven the car.”

Trowa tried to whack Quatre with a playful swat of the paper, but his lover had expected it, dodging out of reach with that musical laugh of his. His eyes glittered in amusement. Quatre’s playfulness set him at ease. No rabbit hole.

Sensing the activity, Danny Dog got up from his bed and trotted over, mouth agape and ready to play. The collie bounded over to Quatre who had made it halfway to the kitchen. His blonde lover nudged Danny away and pointed to him. “Go get him, Danny! Go get him!”

Danny immediately turned around and ran over to him, rearing up on his back legs in play. He caught the collie in a hug and gave him a few solid pats on the side. “You’re lucky the dog’s cuter than you are,” he teased before setting Danny Dog down, watching as Quatre poured himself a fresh cup of tea.

“You’re the one who made out with him yesterday,” Quatre quipped back.

“Oh, go away,” he shot back in mock annoyance. Quatre was never going to let him live that down. Quatre laughed again as he shut himself back in his office.


	7. Chapter 6

Quatre sighed and looked at his watch. Quarter after one. He dropped his head back against his computer chair and rubbed his hands over his face. The data was spectacular. Better than he’d hoped actually, which boded well for his thesis, but it was taking longer than he’d expected to get through it all and he had at least twelve other things he had on his itinerary for today.

With another sigh he let his hands fall and swiveled his computer chair. The picturesque Charles River spanned across his view. Its magnificence reminded him how small humans were and of how beautiful the world was. In such a technology driven era, he always felt comforted by the knowledge that the Earth continued to demand respect from humanity, placing boundaries on what man could accomplish while also inspiring the challenge to break boundaries.

Quatre swiveled back around. Danny Dog sat in the open door frame to the spare bedroom that currently functioned as his office. The regal collie stared at him longingly. “I have work to do,” Quatre told him regretfully before returning to his work.

After five minutes of staring at the same paper and circling around the same thought process, he glanced back to the doorway. Danny Dog continued to stare at him. He looked back down at the paper in his hand. He could feel his dog’s eyes staring holes through him. He looked back at the collie. “What?”

Danny Dog barked.

Quatre waved at his paperwork. “Can you _not_ see that I’m behind?” he asked. Danny Dog tilted his head. He tried to go back to his work once again, but couldn’t shake the penetrating feeling of the collie’s eyes. He glanced up. Danny Dog wasn’t there.

He sighed with half-hearted relief...and felt the weight of Danny Dog’s muzzle on his knee. He reached down and scratched the dog’s neck through his mane of fur. “You’re not going to leave me alone are you?” he asked.

Danny groaned, causing him to let out a huff of mild exasperation. Between the eyes and the pathetic begging, saying no to Danny Dog was impossible.

“Fine. You win. Come on!” He waved his hand towards the door. Danny Dog launched forward and out into the living room, the tags on his collar jingling. Quatre pushed his chair back and followed at a much less hurried pace. After making sure he had his phone and grabbing his wallet, he walked to the door where Danny Dog was waiting, holding his leash in his mouth.

“You’re a good dog,” Quatre told him as he pulled his coat on and clipped the leash to his collar, then out they went.

Danny Dog danced on the end of his tether the whole way down to the garage. His SUV unlocked with a quick press of a button and Danny Dog eagerly jumped into the back seat. Quatre let the leash go, giving the collie the freedom to move about as he wanted before shutting the door and getting in the driver’s seat.

Danny Dog barked excitedly as Quatre slowly pulled out of the garage and turned onto Bromfield. The air was still chilly and crisp, but he put the window down anyway so Danny Dog could stick his head out. Insulated by his thick fur, the cold didn’t bother him.

“Good thing you’re a collie,” he muttered rhetorically.

He remembered when they’d first picked Danny Dog up. Such a small bundle of fur. He’d been attentive even back then, as much as a puppy could be anyway. Trowa had woken him up early on his birthday and had literally forced him into the car. A two-hour ride Northeast had put them in sheep country. He’d been in complete bafflement when Trowa had driven down a long driveway to park on the outside of a wooden gate connecting a row of shoulder-high stone walls that turned into wood fencing.

A genial old couple that looked to be in their early 60’s had come out of the barn to offer introductions, let them through the gate and offer them tea. Still, in utter confusion, he’d begun to suspect something was up by the smirk on Trowa’s face. He looked all too pleased with himself, which always meant he was at least one step ahead of him.

The small cottage the couple lived in was obviously old, well-kept, and well-lived in. The woman prattled on about having an ‘empty nest’ once her children had all grown up (they were soon to be grandparents for a fourth time early next year). To take up their time and to help with their large flock, they had taken to raising collies.

It had been about that point in the conversation that the husband had surreptitiously left the room and returned with a small sable ball of fluff. Everyone’s wide smiles had contrasted against his own shocked expression as the man gently plopped the squirming colored cotton ball in his lap. Puppy kisses had immediately assaulted his face, his neck, and hands.

It was then that Trowa laid out the plan to teach the puppy to be a therapy animal. The gesture was no small thing and the weight of it was much more than the six pounds of fuzzy energy in his lap.

He really didn’t remember the rest of the conversation, except Trowa saying “You did say you wanted a dog”. A home cooked lunch followed and then the long car ride home. Rashid’s expecting smile when they entered the house that evening proved that he’d been in on it too. Not surprising. There was no way he would have been allowed to bring home a puppy without the big man’s permission.

Danny Dog’s tail thumping against his head rest brought him out of his memories. He reached back and gave the dog a quick pat as he stopped at the end of the street and waited for the light to turn green. Then it was a few blocks down Park Street to Beacon. He got lucky and was able to find a parking spot right along the street. At least he’d be able to find the vehicle quickly once they were done, he mused as he got out of the car.

He startled slightly when his phone buzzed in his pocket as he let Danny out. He wasn’t sure who would be calling him in the middle of the day. He felt his heart rate speed up and the sense of dread began to creep over him. He hoped it wasn’t work. The last thing he needed was WEI to pile something else on him today. Fishing out his phone almost made him miss grabbing Danny’s leash as the dog jumped out of the car.

It was Trowa. He felt the anxiety drain away. He pressed the green answer button. “Hey.” He had to tug Danny Dog to get him to focus and follow him.

“I’m taking my lunch hour. Want to grab something?” Quatre couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face as he looked both ways before crossing the street and heading into the park. They were three weeks in and so far so good. It helped that they were both putting in a solid effort to make their relationship work.

“I’m at the park with Danny Dog,”

“The place still has vendors?”

“Yeah, if you want to meet us.” After choosing a meeting spot, they hung up with each other.

It would take Trowa about fifteen minutes to meet them. That gave him enough time to make it to the other side of the Common and back. Danny Dog couldn’t be happier, trotting at the end of his leash. They paused in their stroll several times as the jolly collie made friends with passersby.

By the time they were coming up to the appointed meeting spot, Trowa was already in view, ordering food from a traveling vendor. Quatre smiled as his lover walked over with hot dogs and soda. “Hey,” he greeted as Trowa gave him a quick kiss before handing his food over, topped just the way he liked it. Mustard and relish. He was almost surprised Trowa would remember something like that. “How’s work?”

Trowa shrugged as they walked to a nearby bench and sat down to eat. “Weeks worth of paperwork crammed into one. I’m back at TOP EX next week. So all the paperwork that piled up while I was gone needs to get done before then. Been staring at computer screens and paper so long my eyes started to get a little buggy. I had to step out before my brain turned to mush.”

Quatre chuckled. He knew the feeling. All he did all day, every day was look over paperwork. It was one of the few downsides to getting his doctorate and being a CEO. Once he graduated he’d be able to put his mind to more techy pet projects with the R&D department, but for now, his life was surrounded by theoretical application and data trolling.

“Might be home a little late,” Trowa added before finishing his food.

“You know I’ll still be working.”

Trowa opened both cans of soda, passing one over as Quatre finished his own hot dog. “You’ve got two months left,” Trowa said with a hint of confusion. “Are you worried your thesis won’t be done in time?”

“Thanks and not necessarily,” he said as he took the offered drink. Trowa draped an arm around his shoulders and he leaned into his side. It was such a coupley thing to do and it felt nice to be close like this again. “The thesis needs to be done before April, so I can spend the last few weeks making sure it holds up to counter arguments. The data’s been a lot more intensive than I had originally anticipated. It’s simply taken longer to get through.” He shrugged. “It’s good for the thesis. It’s solid. It’s just…”

Trowa looked at him sympathetically. “Time-consuming.”

Quatre gave him a small smile in response. “Yeah.”

Danny Dog suddenly ran to the edge of his leash, yanking against the line. Standing square, with his chest out and head high, he barked repeatedly as he stared out across the pond water. “What is he barking at?” Trowa asked, a mixture of humor and confusion at the calm collie’s atypical behavior.

Quatre pointed to the reeds close by. A pair of ducks swam away from deeper water and into the foliage at the edge of the pond. “Danny likes the ducks. Or at least he would like to chase the ducks. They started showing up three years ago.”

“What happened to the old ones,” Trowa asked.

“Bird flu took them all out awhile back. The ducks were the first ones to return. The geese came later. The population looks almost like it had before.” The pond used to have plenty of ducks and geese. Danny had liked to bark at those ducks too, though the collie had been smart enough not to mess with the geese. About five months after Trowa had left, the birds had all succumbed to a new strain of bird flu. Surely it had been a coincidence, but at the time, Quatre had found it eerily symbolic.

“I vaguely remember hearing about that,” Trowa recalled as he drank his soda next to him. The pair of ducks waddled up the pond rocks and settled themselves down on the lawn several feet away. They seemed unperturbed, despite Danny’s continued barking. “Why don’t you let him chase them?”

“I’m not going to let Danny Dog chase the ducks,” he replied. Danny Dog whined pathetically as he danced excitedly on the edge of his leash, staring at the ducks mere yards away.

“Why not? He’s a herding dog. He should chase something once in awhile. It would do him good.”

“Because we’ll get kicked out.”

“They’ll kick you out for Danny Dog chasing ducks?” Trowa asked skeptically.

“They’ll kick _us_ out and they’ve been trying to get the ducks to have babies since they showed up. They’re trying to breed back the population and they won’t have babies if they’re getting chased around by dogs,” he explained and finished his soda.

“What, they can’t just lay their eggs?” Trowa asked as he watched the ducks. “They have water and people who feed them bread. They’re not happy enough now?”

“Well, I’m not a duck, so I really wouldn’t know,” he replied dryly.

“Ha ha, you’re very funny.”

“I’m hysterical, thank you very much. Danny’s not chasing the ducks.”

Trowa chuckled. “Fine, he won’t get to chase the ducks.” Quatre glanced up at Trowa as his boyfriend shifted to look at his watch. “I need to be getting back if I want to not get yelled at for getting stuck in traffic.”

“Means Danny and I should get home too,” he said, pulling away from Trowa’s warm embrace and standing up. “Where did you park?”

“Coincidentally enough, several paces down from you. I drove past your SUV looking for a parking spot. Got lucky and nabbed one further down.”

“Well at least we can walk out together,” he said with a smile. They both tossed their soda cans into a nearby recycling bin and held hands as they walked towards the entrance together. Quatre only had to coax Danny Dog away from the ducks for the first few strides before the collie gave up and followed along placidly.

Trowa spied a coffee vendor down the road and pulled them in that direction. “How much coffee have you had today?” Quatre asked.

“Not nearly enough for the amount of paperwork awaiting me,” he replied as they walked up to the window. He ordered a large black eye.

“That sounds completely unhealthy...in more ways than one.”

Trowa gave him a reproachful look before turning his attention back to the barista. “And a small triple mocha, nonfat with whip.”

“What’s that?” he asked in surprise. Trowa knew he didn’t drink coffee.

“It’s for you. It’s chocolate and espresso.”

“Do you want me jittering like a crack addict?”

“You’ll be fine,” Trowa said, looking down at him after he paid the man. “It’s hot chocolate with caffeine. You’ve done espresso before.”

“Not in a long time and certainly not that much…” he replied hesitantly.

“How far behind are you compared to where you scheduled yourself to be?” Trowa asked, then thanked the barista as he took their drinks. Quatre gave Trowa a plaintive expression. His boyfriend held out the steaming, dark, chocolatey caffeinated drink. “It’ll make it less hellish.” He took the drink and looked at it as if it was about to eat him whole.

“Come on,” Trowa said with a chuckle. Trowa hooked an arm around his and led them back up the street where they crossed the road and down toward their cars. Quatre took a tentative sip. He crinkled his nose a bit at the coffee flavor. It was definitely there, though the sweet chocolate somewhat balanced the bitter espresso. The whip cream felt cool and wet against his lip. Overall, it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. It was drinkable at least.

They stopped at Quatre’s SUV. He pressed a button to unlock the doors. Trowa pulled open the backseat for Danny Dog, who obediently jumped right in. Trowa closed the door on the collie and smiled down at him. “Thanks for taking a break when you did.”

“Thank Danny Dog,” he replied. “He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“As he should. You would work yourself to starvation if it wasn’t for that dog.” Quatre winced inwardly at the accusation. It wasn’t entirely an exaggeration either. He’d always had a propensity for forgetting to eat when he was focused on work. During the rare occasions where he actually worked out of the WEI office on the colony, his assistant would actually schedule his meal breaks for that exact reason.

“I’ve been doing better,” he grumbled. “Give me some credit.”

Trowa laughed. The guy was in a pretty good mood despite looking at an extended stay at his Preventer desk. Trowa wrapped his non-coffee holding arm around his waist, pulled him in close, and kissed him. Trowa’s tongue didn’t ask for entry, but he gave it anyway. Never one to pass an opportunity by, Trowa pressed his tongue against his, his tongue lazily roaming his mouth.

Quatre’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into Trowa’s warm, strong body. He wished they could just go home and curl under the covers, passing the last remnants of winter by with much more pleasant, and private, activities.

Trowa pulled away. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home,” he told him before stealing one last, quick kiss before turning around and walking away to his own car.

Quatre groaned in exasperation. He reluctantly walked around the car, got in the SUV and turned on the ignition. His little daydream sounded so much better than the amount of work he had waiting for him at home.

_____________________________________________________________________

Steel gray eyes watched the passersby from a quaint little cafe in downtown Pittsburg. _These people and their mundane lives_ , Mikhail Castonev thought as he leisurely nursed his Americano. His body man, Ivan, would be along shortly, confirming that final preparations were in order. The local news could be heard in the background. A city council member just stepped down due to his wife’s illness, a tech company was buying out another, violent crime was down, etc. etc.. _Things are about to get very interesting_ , he promised them silently.

A slender man in a suit and tie entered the cafe, ordered a latte, and sat down in front of him. “Everything is in order, sir.” His accent was gone, his English perfect. Ivan knew how to blend in. The man had been the only person from his inner circle to have survived along with himself from the Preventer’s attack on his hotel in China nine years ago. Castonev would never forget those events for as long as he lived.

Ivan had rushed into his personal room with the announcement that two Preventer helicopters and a squadron of mobile suits unlike what they had previously fought against were attacking the protective force around his hotel. They were expected to breach the perimeter in a matter of minutes.

Quickly, along with Ivan and his nephew, Nikolaj Kozlov, Castonev had rushed to escape the tightening noose those damned Preventers had managed to put around his neck. Ivan had gone to fetch a car as Castonev and Niki waited safely in the shadows. With a deep, simmering anger, he remembered as the blonde former Gundam pilot, Quatre Raberba Winner, appeared on the other side of the garage. Gun leading, treading carefully, the boy had been on the lookout for trouble.

Niki hadn’t been able to resist.

Against his wishes, his brash nephew had left his side. Like a leopard, he had stalked his prey, until finally stepping out and facing the nemesis he had battled against from the beginning of the conflict. When Niki shot the kid, Castonev had thought he’d leave him be and return. The Preventers were coming down on them. Then was not the time to allow themselves to be distracted by games.

But Niki had been infatuated with that boy. Laying him down hadn’t been enough for his nephew. He just had to toy with him, delight in his pain, cause more of it. Niki had ended up putting two bullets through his body, along with several pressing reminders of the pain those wounds caused. Outside their mobile suits, even a Gundam pilot's body was soft and destructible like any other. It all should have been enough to kill him. Weeks later, Castonev certainly had been surprised to learn of his survival.

The continued existence of the Winner boy festered in his heart, breeding an ever growing sense of anger and hate. That boy was the reason Niki was dead. That boy and his compatriots...his lover.

The cavalry had arrived just as Niki was preparing to pierce the fallen Gundam pilot with a third bullet. Instead of watching the boy’s eyes go wide, instead of hearing his scream of pain, Niki had dropped dead. Even from his position, Castonev had seen the bullet hole between his eyes as his nephew stared, unseeing, across the garage.

In an instant, his Niki was gone. How quickly the tides had turned on them all. His Niki...the last remnant of his sister...had been destroyed. The shock had silenced him. Unable to scream out or move, he’d been left to watch as the Preventer force applied first aid to their dying comrade and rushed him away.

Ivan had found him minutes later, kneeling on the cold cement, clutching his heart as he thought he might have a heart attack. He’d tried to reach Niki then, tried to stand, to go to him, but Ivan had pulled him away, in the other direction. The shock had rendered him powerless and his faithful body man had been able to shove him into a car and drive them to safety.

Even to this day, Castonev wasn’t entirely certain how Ivan had gotten them out of China undetected. They’d almost gotten caught in Singapore and then Columbia, but they’d managed to stay off the radar since. After nine years, he was finally about to get his revenge.

“And I thought this might interest you,” his body man added, placing a gossip magazine in front of him. He picked it up and studied it carefully. The Winner boy, all grown up, was wrapped in a passionate embrace of another of the Gundam pilots. Pilot 03 and former prisoner of Castonev’s, Trowa Barton, the name of Dekim Barton’s deceased son, whose name the mysterious pilot of Gundam 03 had assumed at the start of a revised Operation Meteor. Even after the war, the previously un-named youth had kept the name.

He had been mildly interested several years ago when Ivan had informed him that the two pilots, who had begun their epic romance during his Eurussian uprising, had broken up. Castonev had delighted in the knowledge that the damned blonde had been devastated by the split. It appeared, though, that the two had reconciled.

“I expect an updated report,” he told Ivan as he continued to stare at the photo.

“It is being prepared as we speak, sir. It will be in your hands later this evening.”

“Good. Let’s see what our little CEO has been up to.” He chuckled, a sound that was deep and delighted by the anticipation. “Your life is about to become very interesting, my boy.”

______________________________________________________________________

The water all around them was crystal blue, a sea of sparkling aquamarine gems. Watching over the side of the boat as they slowly eased into a cove, Trowa spotted a sea turtle gliding into the depths as colorful fish swam below. He heard the throttle choke down to an idle and eventually stop. Tearing his eyes away from the beautiful water and the life down below, he looked up and forward. Quatre turned off the engine and dropped the anchor.

He smiled. Quatre looked good. Focused on the task at hand, but good. Dressed in a blue topaz button-up, white shorts, and a light, airy, cream colored jacket that matched his boating shoes. His big blue eyes were obscured by the aviator sunglasses he wore, but Trowa was sure they were bright and sparkling like the water. He certainly looked happier, less stressed and more relaxed than several months ago when he was still working on his thesis.

It was late August and they were halfway into their two-week vacation on the coast of Italy. Quatre had finally caved and bought a boat as an I-survived-my-PhD gift to himself. Trowa had never needed expensive things in his life. Yeah, he liked the high-end cars and the fast bikes, but aside from the motorbike he had back home, he had no use for a fancy car. This boat, on the other hand, was a pretty sweet ride.

At 63 feet long, she was an elegant, yet speedy open class yacht. Her patented silencing systems were so quiet, she purred rather than roared, even when sprinting at her top speed of 60 mph. She wasn’t as fast as Commander Sauda Ul’s boat they’d taken out several years ago, but she was plenty fast enough. The main deck sported pale oak in all areas of foot traffic, while the rest of her was a sleek charcoal gray with light sandstone accents. The paint finish made her sparkle if you looked at her close enough. She moved across the water like a high-class thoroughbred and turned on a dime, quick as a cat. The engineers that built her certainly had cause to be proud.

Quatre hadn’t been able to say no to her, not after he’d made the decision to stay in Boston and run WEI remotely. The decision had been unpopular with much of the population on Quatre’s home colony, but after working himself so hard for so long, Quatre had simply decided that he deserved to make at least one decision based off of what he wanted rather than what was most convenient for the company. It was a private company after all. He wasn’t beholden to shareholders or investors.

Trowa hopped out of his seat and reached into one of the storage cubbies that were subtly located under the surprisingly spacious lounge that sat behind the captain’s helm.He pulled out two pairs of snorkeling gear. Their scuba gear was currently in the guest cabin, carefully stored so as not to ruin the luxurious interior with their heavy equipment. They might suit up later for deeper diving, but for now, easy snorkeling was on the itinerary.

As he closed the cubby back up, he felt a cool shadow drape over him. He looked up and saw Quatre leaning over him with one hand on one of the boat’s awning supports and the other on the back of his helmsman’s seat. Despite the spaciousness of the cockpit area where they currently were, getting up from this position, with Quatre leaning in so close would be difficult. Quatre was smiling and Trowa could just barely make out the shape of those baby blues behind his sunglasses.

As he stood up, Quatre leaned towards him even more, enough to capture his mouth with his. Unable to rise any further, he was forced to sit down on the lounge rather than stand up. Quatre followed him, draping his lithe frame suggestively over him. Quatre’s hands roamed Trowa’s body slowly, savoring the feel of him.

Trowa dropped the snorkeling equipment onto the floor, lovingly holding Quatre’s face in one hand and wrapping his other around Quatre’s waist, pulling him in close against him. Their kisses were slow, lazy, without a care in the world. Much like the gentle water that lapped against the side of their boat.

“We’re supposed to be snorkeling,” he murmured against Quatre’s lips.

“That’s not what this is?” Quatre asked innocently.

He chuckled, deep and content. He gently pulled off Quatre’s sunglasses and set them on the glossy natural oak table next to them. The dark blue of Quatre’s shirt made his eyes look darker, deeper than normal. And they held all the warmth in the world. “No, it’s not,” he told him before kissing him again. He could feel Quatre’s smile against his lips and he smiled too. It was impossible not to. Being out on such pristine water, off the cost of one of their favorite places to visit, alone with Quatre...was perfect.

Quatre pulled away slightly, breaking their kiss, and looked down at him. “We should probably change then.” Quatre’s voice was soft, smooth, and suggestive. He moaned as Quatre shifted downward. Quatre sat on the lounge, straddling his legs. Leaning in close, Quatre skimmed his hands underneath his t-shirt. “This…” Quatre said as he tugged the fabric up past his chest, “needs to come off”.

But he didn’t pull Trowa’s shirt off completely. Instead, Quatre grazed his lips across his abdomen, teasing his skin with his tongue. A drag here, a flick there. Trowa moaned louder. Quatre was such a delightful tease.

In the back of his mind, he was grateful that they were the only ones in this cove and one of the few pleasure crafts out on the water today. It was a weekday. The kids would be in school and their parents at work. So at least the likelihood of running into another boat and ruining children’s eyes was significantly less than it would have been a few days ago. The chance of getting reported for indecent exposure was also low. This part of the water was listed as an ocean sanctuary. So no fishing. The only watercraft out here would be tourists or pleasure crafting locals, but they were alone on the water today.

Trowa pulled in a shaky breath in order to steady himself. “Quatre, darling…”

“Hmmm?” Quatre’s breaths dusted across his skin. It caused a shiver to run through him. He heard Quatre chuckle.

“Pick up the stuff will you?” he asked plaintively.

Quatre stopped his teasing to give him a slightly confused expression, but he reached down and grabbed the snorkeling equipment anyway. Quickly, Trowa sat up, forcing Quatre backward. Quatre backed up off the lounge entirely and Trowa took the opportunity to stand up. “Got your phone on you?” he asked.

Quatre gave him a puzzled expression. “No. It’s in the bedroom, why?”

In a swift motion, he picked Quatre up and started carrying him towards the rear of the boat. To his credit, Quatre immediately picked up on his folly and began struggling in his arms. “Trowa, no! No! Don’t do it! Trowa!”

He smiled.

“Trow…!”

Splash!

He tossed him over the side. Plenty far enough away from the unmoving propellers to guarantee he wouldn’t hit his head on them and the water was deep enough that he wouldn’t land on anything. He leaned his arms on the railing and laughed as Quatre came up to the surface looking quite indignant. “That’s what you get for being such a tease.”

“I’m not wearing any swimwear!” Quatre yelled back at him. He couldn’t keep his angry face on for long though. His good humor quickly overtook the shock of getting tossed overboard as he smiled impishly. “Besides, you like it when I’m a tease.”

True. He had no counter to that argument. “Just take your clothes off,” he told him as he pulled his own shirt off and tossed it to the side. He worked the button on his pants loose and dropped them where he stood. At least _he’d_ been prepared enough to wear his swimming trunks under his shorts. Quatre, on the other hand, surely hadn’t.

A heavy, wet thwap landed on the stern of the boat. Trowa peered down as he moved to the center of the boat. He laughed. Quatre’s white shorts, and his boxers rested in a pile. Trowa had made the dare and Quatre had followed through with it. Out here alone, his affectionately bashful CEO was getting rather cocky. In all the right ways.

Quickly, he walked up to the seat next to the helmsman’s chair where Quatre had set aside his swimming trunks. The guy really shouldn’t be skinny dipping in the ocean. Might be a bad idea though, on a few levels.

Turning around, trunks in his hand, he walked down the steps to the stern. Quatre’s shoes and shirt and joined the rest of his clothes. And there Quatre was, treading water with that self-satisfied smile on his face. Trowa smiled right back as he jumped in the water with his lover. The water was warm and so clear he could see all the way to the bottom beneath his feet.

And then the phone rang. Loudly.

Trowa shifted under the covers and peered out from beneath the blankets. He could see his nightstand and the lamp in the middle of it. His alarm clock glowed 03:03. Damn, it was early. He saw his cell phone laying dormant. So, it wasn't Preventer calling him.

The ringing still sounded loudly. Quatre's side. Trowa had a sinking feeling. That didn't bode well. No one at WEI would call Quatre this early unless something catastrophic happened.

He looked towards Quatre's side of the bed. Quatre had shifted to the edge sometime during the few hours he'd been asleep. Poor guy had been up til almost midnight, pushing through work on his thesis. Danny Dog had joined them and was currently between Quatre's legs, his head and paws resting across the back of his knee.

Quatre's hand snaked out from under the blanket and knocked the phone off the cradle. It took a moment for his fingers to pull it close enough to grab. The phone disappeared under the blanket with him.

“Hello?” There was a pause as Quatre listened to whoever was on the phone. “Hold on. I’m going to pick this up in my office,” he said quietly.

Trowa heard a button click and the sound of the phone being set back on the receiver. Quatre rustled next to him. Danny Dog, annoyed by all the movement shifted out of the way as Quatre cautiously eased out from under the covers. Trowa watched as he quietly padded over to the dresser and hurriedly pulled on some clothes.

“What's wrong?”

Quatre looked over as he put on one of his sweaters. “Just go back to bed.”

Trowa pushed himself into a sitting position. “They wouldn't call you at this hour if it wasn't serious.”

He watched as Quatre walked over, put his hands on the bed, and leaned over to give him a quick kiss. “It'll be fine. Go back to bed.”

Quatre pushed off the mattress and left the room. He watched as Quatre walked away. Danny Dog looked up at him. “Your mom’s probably right,” he said, looking down at the collie. He settled back in under the covers, trying to ease his mind back to sleep. It didn’t work well.

He wasn’t sure how long he had laid in bed, floating between half-asleep and half-conscious, dreaming partial dreams of varying events that would take Quatre away from him. Occasionally Quatre’s voice would filter down the hall into the bedroom. Trowa shifted and glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 03:48. So much for going back to sleep. He was already awake, so he might as well just get up.

With a sigh he threw back the covers and walked over to the dresser, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and a dark blue t-shirt. He had to pull Danny Dog off the bed in order to tuck the blankets in. The collie groaned in protest but got down anyway. With that done, he walked out into the kitchen and began making a pot of coffee. A glance down the hall showed Quatre sitting in his chair, looking at something on his work tablet, appearing to take the call on speakerphone. He looked deeply troubled. Trowa turned around and put the kettle on for some tea. Looked like the guy would need it.

A few minutes later, he was walking up to Quatre's office door, coffee and tea in hand, when he heard his boyfriend very crossly say “Don't tell me we killed our own guys”. No longer sitting, his boyfriend was standing at his desk with his hands pressed against the natural wood and staring down at the phone in front of him. Trowa paused, somewhat reluctant to draw attention to himself. Quatre had guys dead? What the hell? No wonder he sounded angry.

Quatre must have felt his eyes on him because he looked up from his conversation with the phone. Quatre muted himself and waved him in. Trowa entered and heard several guys talking amongst each other from the other side of the phone. Quatre met him halfway to the door.

“What happened?” he asked, offering Quatre his tea.

Quatre took the tea and gave him a look that was half-pained, half-furious. “Something went wrong with a planned detonation. Caused a cave in. We have a whole team trapped in one of the resource satellites.”

_Damn._

He stared at Quatre silently, unable to say anything that would be helpful. Quatre stared back, knowing everything he couldn’t say, but wanted to. Suddenly a clear voice on the phone called Quatre’s name. Quatre turned around and quickly went back to his desk. He set his tea down and unmuted himself. “Yeah?” he asked, placing his hands on his desk again.

“We’re still trying to figure out what happened. We still don’t know what went wrong. That secondary mining team we mentioned is almost on site to try to make contact, see if they’re alive.”

“Alright. Get as many support teams over there as soon as you can.”

“Sir, we’ll need someone to liaison with Preventer.”

“Because it was an explosion, not a mechanical failure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright. Have someone from Marney’s office contact the local division and keep me updated about the team. Call my cell. I’m on my way up.”

Quatre hung up the call and picked up his work tablet and the cup of tea. “You were right,” he said, glancing up at him as he walked past and out into the hallway. Trowa followed him back to the bedroom where he pulled out a brown leather duffle bag that already looked full. He’d almost forgotten Quatre kept a go-bag.

Trowa’s cell phone went off. He sipped his coffee and watched Quatre grab a suit and enter the bathroom as he made his way over to the nightstand. He picked up his cell phone. It was Preventer. “Hello?”

“Trowa.” It was his boss, Jacobs. “I know it’s early, but it sounds like you’re already up.”

He heard the shower turn on. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“We just got a call from the L4 Bureau Chief. Apparently, there was some type of explosion at one of your boyfriend’s satellites.”

“Yeah.” He had a feeling he knew where Jacobs was going with this.

“As much as they want to handle it since it’s in their backyard, they know you two are together and seeing as you’re an explosives expert…”

“They want me to be Preventer’s liaison.”

“The higher-ups think Winner will be more charitable with information if it’s you. He trusts you. Might divulge information the company might otherwise keep to themselves.”

Trowa frowned. The insinuation that Quatre wouldn’t be transparent regarding the situation rankled him. “Quatre’s not going to hide anything, Jacobs. Whatever happened up there, his sole concern is going to be getting those guys home.”

Now it was his boss who wasn’t happy. “You sound like his PR lady. Do I need to be worried about your ability to do the job?”

“The job’s not the issue. Your assumption is. I’m not going to treat Quatre or his company like they’re against us.”

“The job is the issue,” Jacobs threw back at him. “You need to be objective. I have no doubt they want their guys back, but they’ll also protect their interests. You need to be prepared for that. If you can’t do it, I’ll tell the L4 guys they can keep their turf, but I need to know upfront. Can you do the job?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he replied with an exasperated huff.

“Good, I’ll let them know you’re on your way. Let me know when you get up there.”

Jacobs hung up on him with a sharp click. Trowa sighed and tossed the phone on the bed. When he turned around Quatre was walking out of the bathroom, hair still damp, but fully clothed. “Coming with me?”

“Apparently,” he replied. He watched as Quatre ordered a cab through his phone. He didn’t like feeling like a spy working against Quatre. “They think you’ll hold back information. That you’ll...let something slip around me that you wouldn’t share with another Preventer.”

“Are you surprised?” Quatre asked as he packed the tablet in his bag.

“That Jacobs thinks you’d hide something? I suppose not. He’s jaded. And a dick. But that they’d want me to be the liaison? Yes. For obvious reasons.”

Quatre shrugged. “There’s merit to their logic. You’re going to have to hurry though,” he said motioning distractedly towards the bathroom. “Our ride will be here soon.”

Trowa was in and out in a matter of minutes. When he got out Quatre had already pulled out his go-bag, a surplus military moss green canvas compared to Quatre’s expensive leather. Quatre had laid out some clothes for him as well. Casual civilian clothes. He checked his bag. Also civilian. How Quatre knew him. He might be on Preventer business, but he still had to keep his official work quiet. He could play the role of tag-along boyfriend easily and his black market contacts wouldn’t be the wiser of his true job.

He got dressed quickly and had just put his shoes on when Quatre came back into the room with his jacket on and Danny Dog on the leash. “For the record, we had a planned detonation on satellite I3XE near my home colony. It detonated, but something went wrong, we don’t know what, at 02:39 our time.” Quatre walked over and grabbed his bag. Trowa did the same and together they walked to the door where they paused so he could put his own coat on.

“A full team consisting of twelve guys became trapped when a large portion of that area collapsed following the blast. Even with a premature detonation, that shouldn’t have happened. We have a secondary team that was working on another section of the satellite heading to their location. They’ll attempt to make contact, discern whether the team is alive or not, survey the area, and report back what they find.”

“That’s it so far?” he asked. He expected a bit more considering how long Quatre had been on the phone. He took Danny’s leash from Quatre. His lover opened the door, quickly grabbed his keys, and stuffed them in his pocket.

“For now, until Canan calls me back with more,” Quatre replied as he shut the door behind them. “Consider yourself read in.”


	8. Chapter 8

The constant roar of the shuttle’s four engines greeted Trowa as his mind crawled away from sleep and into consciousness. He shifted in an attempt to release the knot that had formed in his back. He’d always had the ability to fall asleep anywhere, a trait Quatre had teased him for on numerous occasions. Now, it seemed, his body was beginning to feel it.

He could hear Quatre sift through papers next to him. Quatre’s warm body and familiar movements, gentle and cautious as he worked so as not to wake him, filled him with contentment. Despite the dreadful circumstances that had put them on this shuttle together, the mission of tackling an objective together, working alongside each other, in tandem, felt as natural as breathing. 

Trowa felt the engines throttle down, decreasing their speed. He opened his eyes, figuring that was the last sleep he would probably have for several days. He looked up from his slouched position, his head close to Quatre’s shoulder. Not noticing he’d woken up, Quatre remained occupied with the papers in front of him, eyebrows knit together in frustration accentuated the scowl he wore. Quatre’s displeasure at whatever was on those papers was obvious. 

A flight attendant walked down the aisle to them and handed Quatre a note. “This message came for you, sir,” he said with a polite smile. “As you’ve probably guessed, we’ll be docking soon, so please make sure your seatbelts are on.” Quatre replied with a dismissive ‘thank you’, a colder treatment than he typically offered. As the attendant retreated to his own seat, Quatre read the message, letting out a low curse in french. Trowa leaned into Quatre, peering over his arm to see the note. Quatre gestured with it, obscuring his view. “It’s Adam Hadrani’s crew.” Trowa looked at him and blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

“You say that like I should …”

“He’s the most safety conscious team leader on this satellite, Trowa.” The words ran out of Quatre as if the air had been kicked out of him. “I pulled him off the XO824 satellite in order to train and lead these guys for that exact reason. He’s the most experienced guy we have.”

Trowa knew what Quatre was getting at. “You don’t think he made a mistake.” Quatre looked him in the eye, standfast and with conviction. He shook his head.Trowa took a deep breath. Quatre’s logic was flawed. Experienced or not, people made mistakes. He said as much.

Quatre shook his head again. “Not a single safety infraction in thirty years. I’ll side with his record.” Despite Quatre’s claim, his eyes were clear, focused, critical. He hadn’t lost perspective. “Something else went wrong, Trowa. These guys didn’t screw up.” Trowa had his doubts. He suspected Quatre’s faith in his team might be misplaced. Human error couldn’t be ruled out just yet. Not without evidence that pointed to another causation. He filed the information away for later.

Minutes later they were disembarking from the terminal. Marney was there, along with two men who looked like they couldn’t be any dissimilar. Looking much like a model for Armani, the younger of the two wore a fitted suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. Obviously an office aide of some sort. The other was an older man looking to be in his late middle ages wore jeans and a simple button-up, with the sleeves rolled up. An old dog around the block. He looked like a man used to getting his hands on a problem.

The two men walked forward hastefully. “Jeffers, Chief Engineer” the old dog introduced himself, sticking his hand out. Handshakes were traded without a break in forward momentum. “The suit’s Ken. Came down from the local office.”

“Here for whatever you need, sir,” the suit interjected. 

Quatre motioned in his direction. “This is Trowa. He’ll be acting as Preventer’s liaison. He needs access to everything. Understood?”

“Of course,” Jeffers acknowledged.

“Two crises in two months, Quatre. You’re racking up a tally,” Marney teased with cynicism. Her voice was heavy, weighted, and humorless.

“You have to earn your keep somehow.” The quip escaped Quatre as easily as saying hello though, just like Marney, Quatre’s voice lacked its typical geniality. Everyone felt the reason they were here heavy upon their shoulders. “Status?”

“Well, we were finally able to make contact with one or our guys. Comm units seem to have been damaged in the cave in, but one guy was finally able to get through.” Trowa, walking next to Quatre, looked over his shoulder as Jeffers handed his boss a file. Quatre flipped through it, speed reading the information before handing it over to him completely. 

“Jason Choi, 20. Kid’s young,” Trowa commented as he read the file. Dimples and a baby face looked back at him. He was just a kid.

“You wouldn’t know it by his conduct,” Jeffers replied. “Smart, diligent, and safe. Hadrani was beginning to groom him to be a younger version of himself. A 2.0 version. Just as deliberate. Kid was up for it too.”

“How is he?” Quatre asked.

“A little banged up, but otherwise he’s alright physically.”

“And mentally,” Trowa asked, looking over at Jeffers as the man led them through bland, grey metal hallways. 

“Kid’s scared. Never been stuck before but he’s keeping it together. The connection is patchy, but he was able to give us an idea of how the crew is positioned. We just got the sonar pictures back and confirmed his coordinates.” Jeffers stopped in front of a door, bringing the rest of the group to a halt as well. He motioned for them to proceed him, his hand hovering over the access terminal. “This is us.”

Quatre’s phone rang from inside his pocket. With an annoyed glance he excused himself before stepping away to take the call. Trowa watched a moment as Quatre put a hand on his hip, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line before turning back to Jeffers. “How much oxygen do they have,” he asked. He knew the suits had reserves of oxygen for instances such as these. 

“About three day’s worth. We should be able to dig far enough in resupply them or rescue them completely by then.”

Trowa raised a critical eyebrow. “You have twelve guys’ lives on the line and you’re not sure of your numbers?” Jeffers leveled a resentful glare at him over his impudence. Trowa didn’t care.   
“Low Balling it...sixty one. They have sixty one hours. We’ll get to them before then.”

Trowa stared at the man expressionlessly. He was concerned for his men and wanted them back safely no doubt, but he remembered his history and history was full of arrogant men. Hubris was deadly. Especially in space.

The door in front of them whisked open, startling Jeffers, as a woman burst out of the room, almost running into the chief engineer. She exclaimed in surprise, completely unexpecting to run into anyone. “Sir! Good, you’re here.”

“What’s wrong Sabine?” Jeffers asked. Trowa heard shouts and exclamations coming from inside. Something was wrong. 

“Sir...It’s the men…”

“They’re losing oxygen?!” Everyone turned toward a furious Quatre stalking in their direction, gesturing with his phone. “How the hell does the media know about it before we do?”

To her credit, the woman in the doorway didn’t seem phased by the irate CEO. She pointed inside. “The alarms just went off. They were steady in the green just a moment ago.”  
Together they all rushed inside. 

Organized chaos was the best way to describe the satellite’s control center. Alarms blared in their ears while warning lights flashed everywhere. Sections of computers manned by wide-eyed scientists and engineers spread out like seats at a stadium. Staff checked their instruments, called to each other, hardly controlling their panic and confusion. 

“PSI numbers still dropping,” someone called out. 

“Is it an instrumentation problem?” another called out.

“Should we reset the system?”.

“Already did! No change,” came an answer from somewhere. 

“Primary fuel cells on all suits are at zero! All suits now on reserve! PSI still dropping.”

“Auxiliary power is in the yellow. Aux is yellow.”

Quatre stared up at the main screen, showing the diagram of the suits’ locations. Twelve vitals signatures ran across a large side screen, along with quickly diminishing numbers. “What the hell’s going on?” Quatre growled next to him. Standing next to him, watching the same oxygen numbers continue to fall and power supplies drain, Trowa had no better guess than the panicked staff. 

“Listen up! Listen up!” 

Everyone turned to regard Jeffers who was now standing along the back wall, looking down at his people in the control room. The effect quieted the Chief Engineer’s team. 

“We cannot help them like this,” Jeffers said. “Let’s get ourselves together. One by one, I want status.” 

Direction from their boss brought order to the room. Voices called out instrumentation readings, but the uncontrolled fear and confusion was no longer there. The suits’ oxygen numbers slowly ground to a halt. The most any one of them had was barely over a quarter full. 

“These guys don’t have days,” Trowa stated the obvious. 

“They don’t even have one,” Quatre breathed beside him. “Their vitals didn’t change.” Trowa’d noticed it to. He looked over to Jeffers, who was now conferring with someone next to him. 

“Jeffers.” The man looked over at Quatre. “This didn’t just happen.” The room quieted once more as the implication rippled around the room. “These guys haven't had the power you’ve thought they did.”

“Alright,” Quatre said, raising his voice for all to hear. The room looked to him. “New mission.” Quatre met their questioning faces. “Resupply their oxygen. If we can at least do that, we can buy them some time.” Trowa watched as Quatre’s eyes rested on Jeffers. “What have you got?”

Jeffers stared at Quatre. “We don’t know,” he said simply. 

Quatre blinked. “Excuse me?” Incredulity turned to anger. “That’s a bad answer, you know that?”

Jeffers withered under Quatre’s wrath. “We had time to dig them out. The second team is working to stabilize the area, but it’s just not ready yet. Trying to tunnel in too soon will likely destabilize things further.”

Quatre placed both hands on his hips and looked down at his shoes, composing himself before he lost control of his temper. Quatre looked back up at Jeffers. “That’s the last time I’m going to hear that answer,” he warned the chief engineer with a pointed look. The quiet, simmering anger in Quatre’s voice caused a shiver to run down Trowa’s spine. He’d never heard Quatre sound that way before.

“How fast can you make it stable?”

“We’ve never experienced multiple system failures before. We’re flying blind here.”

“We’ve got twelve guys suffocating down there. They have ten hours,” Quatre said, addressing the entire room once more, looking pointedly at everyone. “I want viable options in front of me in an hour. Find me a solution.” 

With arms crossed Quatre walked up to him and Marney, who stood beside him. “Press conference?” Quatre asked, with his head down, thinking, calculating, turning options over in his head. Marney nodded. 

“This is a privately owned satellite, so they can’t just show up. It’s a safety issue,” Trowa interjected, not sure how Quatre was going to have a press conference without any press actually present.

“We’ve got five major outlets on vidcomm linkup,” Marney explained. “As this goes on, we’ll get more. You’ll have an earpiece and a mic. You’ll give them the facts, including the oxygen issue. They have it already. There’s no point in keeping it quiet. Emphasize we’re using all possible resources to get them home. I’ll be right by you the whole time. I can bail you out if you get into trouble.”

Quatre nodded. “Set it up,” he told her, looking up at them both. “I need to talk to the families first though. I’m not letting them find all this out on live TV.” Trowa caught Quatre’s gaze as his boyfriend turned on his heel to leave the room, following Marney. Quatre looked pained. Furrowed brow, lips pressed thin, eyes typically filled with understanding and patience currently raged with anger and helplessness. He reached a hand out to him as he began to walk away and Quatre did likewise, their fingers grazing each other. A passing gesture of support. 

Jeffers’ continued to direct his people behind him as he watched Quatre follow Marney out of the room. Whatever Quatre was going to have to do next was out of his purview as either the boyfriend or the preventer. With a heavy weight in his heart, Trowa turned his attention back to the men buried beneath his feet.

***  
Quatre stood behind a podium, against a backdrop of slate grey metal. A room or hallway on the mining satellite appeared to have been turned into a makeshift press room. A scruffy middle-aged man and a blonde woman with calculating eyes stood behind him. 

“At approximately 10:40 am, L4 time, a cave in occurred during a planned detonation in the D5 through F1 zones of this satellite, I3XE. The crew of twelve is currently trapped. Any and all options are being exhausted to return them safely to their families. While we do not yet know what caused the detonation to go wrong, we will find out and respond accordingly.”

A deep, rolling chuckle escaped Castonev as he reclined in his chair for his glass of brandy. Aquamarine eyes stared at his, innocently unaware of the familiar attention he was under. Boy had landed himself on global TV. Back straight, eyes steady and forward. Proud. Confident. Strong. Kid was ready to stand his ground. 

“Found yourself in some trouble, didn’t you, boy?” Quatre stared back at him through the vid screen, completely ignorant of the fact he was being watched for reasons other than the current catastrophe. 

He’d grown up well, Castonev thought bitterly. The Winner boy was poised behind the podium as he continued the press conference. A little bedraggled maybe, a bit tired, strained, not nearly as well put together as he usually was, but his back was straight, his eyes steady and forward. Proud. Confident. Strong. It certainly played well for the camera. Young, handsome, empathetic ceo, trying desperately to save his emperilled crew. 

It was a juxtaposition of what his dear nephew Nikolai would have been. A strong, handsome, healthy young leader of a new nation. An economical heavy hitter to rival what remained of the ESUN. A testament to the power of the Castonev bloodline. Niki, his beloved Niki, all that he had left of his sister, should be the one making speeches. In front of gilded marble and rich carpets of fur and silk. It should be Niki that was alive to imprint himself on the history of this new age.

The brandy glass shook in his hand, trembling with a deep, seething rage. The kind of rage that buries itself in the soil of one’s soul, slowly festering like a boil until it could be contained no longer.

Quatre dipped his head down and to the side slightly, almost as if he were bending over to listen to some secret. A voice in his ear. A question probably. “Yes, that’s true. The men are losing oxygen at a rate of roughly nine pounds per hour...A little over nine hours.”

“You might not like the spotlight, boy,” Castonev growled at the vid-screen. “But soon you’ll crumble under it.”

“Our primary concern at this time…”

***

Quatre rifled through the papers in front of him. Diagrams, schematics, reports, field tests littered the cold metal floor beneath him, barely illuminated by the single lamp he’d dared to turn on when he’d first come into the room. The office space had been turned into temporary lodging for them. They’d set up in the rear office, leaving this area as a sitting room of sorts. 

Quatre wasn’t sure what time it was only that it was late, if the stinging in his eyes were an indicator. A while ago Trowa had convinced him to try to get some sleep. Tucked as he’d been against Trowa’s warm body, he’d lain awake, unable to to quiet his mind enough to rest like Trowa had. Eventually he’d given up on chasing sleep, deciding to do the only other thing he could - put his mind to the problem. So here he was, desperately trying to find a way to save the lives he was responsible for. But nothing, nothing made sense!

And time was against them. 

They’d been able to get a second team in place to help stabilize the area, but their progress was still way too slow. There had to be something else that could be done. Quatre was certain of it. Something was buried in here, this pile of information. Some answer he wasn’t seeing. 

Maybe if he had more crew. Maybe they could press the drill to go faster. What he really wanted to do was split the whole damn satellite in half, open the damn thing’s belly like a geode from Earth. Getting to his men would be easy then. But that would destabilize the satellite and potentially the nearby colony, tethered together as the two bodies were. At minimum they’d have to anchor enough cables to various area of the satellite to allow them to control the split pieces via mobile suits. 

He’d need at least another team. He didn’t have one. Reserves from the nearest Winner satellite had already been ordered to this station. They’d be here in twenty eight hours. Last time Quatre had checked anyway. Even then, they’d be too late. Those guys didn’t have another day. He just didn’t have the heart to cancel the order while those men were still alive.

Quatre dropped the papers he’d been holding, letting them fall haphazardly to the ground. With an angry huff he raked his hands through his hair. It wasn’t enough! None of it!

The light to the rear office-turned-bedroom clicked on, followed immediately by the those above his head, turning everything an unnatural fluorescent white and blinding him. He startled, jumping in place where he sat. 

“What are you still doing up?”

Quatre winced inwardly and dropped his hands from his head. He twisted in place, not even bothering to hide his guilt. Trowa’s look of half-awakened grogginess faded, morphing into disapproval. If his boyfriend’s voice hadn’t sounded reproachful enough, the expression on his face left no doubt that Quatre had just gotten himself in trouble.

Trowa’s eyes flicked from his face down to the papers spread at his feet and back. Before he could open his mouth to defend himself, Trowa’s long legs were carrying him across the room. “No,” Trowa said forcefully. Quatre felt himself deflate. “You cannot be doing this, Quatre.”

“Trowa, I can’t…” he tried to say, but Trowa wasn’t having any of it. 

“No! Quatre, stop. Just stop.”

Quatre scrambled to his feet as Trowa reached him. “I can’t do nothing,” he argued. 

“You can’t help those guys right now, Quatre!” Trowa’s voiced was raised. Not quite yelling, but not not yelling either.

“I’m an engineer,” he shot back, not caring if anyone else heard him. He threw an arm to indicate the papers on the floor. “There’s an answer in here somewhere. I just have to find it.”

Trowa visibly pulled in a breath, putting his hands on his hips. “You need to get over yourself.”

Quatre felt his eyes go wide, stunned at the accusation. “Excuse me,” he demanded.

Trowa’s face was stern, completely unyielding. “You can’t fix everything Quatre! Stop thinking that you can.”

His temper flared to the surface again. He wasn’t the type to be quick to anger, but this situation had seen him simmering to the point of boiling over since the beginning. Frustration on top of frustration hadn’t helped and now Trowa was out of line, ganging up on him along with everybody else. Guy needed to be set straight.

“You think this is ego,” he asked in incredulity.

“Quatre, you have some of the best engineers in space working for you,” Trowa countered. His voice was still forceful, but the accusation in it was gone. “Do you honestly think that you’ll be able to come up with an answer that these guys haven’t already tried?”

He stared at Trowa, still indignant. “Trowa, I -” 

“You have nothing to prove here.”

Quatre shook his head. He couldn’t just let it go. He looked down at the papers at his feet. Months if not years of information was strewn about. Trowa was right. The guys on site “I can’t just -” Trowa stepped forward and reached for him.

“Finding a solution is not your job,” he said, pulling him close. Quatre rested his head against Trowa’s shoulder, allowing him to pull him close. He stared, unseeing, into the distance. “Stop acting like it is. You already have a job and so do your engineers. You gave an order. They’re doing their best to deliver.”

“But they haven’t yet,” he countered meekly. Trowa’s concern had melted away his anger. 

“And you won’t be able to be any help. You’ll just get in the way and run yourself ragged in the process. They know their equipment better than you.” Quatre closed his eyes and sighed. Trowa was right. Surprise, surprise. He felt Trowa curl a finger under his chin, coercing him to look his lover in the eyes. Reluctantly, Quatre opened his. “Hey,” Trowa said quietly. “Listen to me. Your job right now is to get these guys through this. Whatever happens.” 

“Have you always been this right,” he asked, surrendering to Trowa’s logic. He felt Trowa smile.

“I have my moments.” Trowa squeezed him tight before tugging him back toward their makeshift bedroom. “Come on.”

“What time is it?”

“Four.” He groaned. No wonder his eyes hurt. Trowa chuckled. “Let’s go.”

A loud knock banged on the door as they turned toward the bedroom. They both paused and turned. The door burst open without waiting for a reply. A bedraggled Ken forcefully pulled air into his lungs. Guy had obviously been running. 

“Good, you’re up,” he said. “It’s the resupply team. They’ve reached the crew.”

“What?!” Quatre and Trowa’s voice sounded together, equally surprised.

“I thought they wouldn’t get there in time,” Trowa said as the three of them hurried out the door and toward the control room. 

“Apparently they were able to get deep enough for a small mechanical shuttle to get through,” Ken replied, falling behind the much more fit former gundam pilots. Quatre and Trowa glanced at each other as they ran. Quatre couldn’t stop the grin that began to make an appearance on his face. He owed Trowa a nice dinner for being right.

Trowa’s long legs outdistanced him as they reached the control room. Trowa slammed it open with hardly a pause. Quatre hurried behind, leaving Ken to catch his breath in the doorway. All about them people were busy, rushing around attending to the things that needed attending. Electricity seemed to travel across the room. That tight-knotted anticipation of a moment of truth. 

“Jeffers,” Quatre called out, looking around for his station manager.

Jeffers separated himself from a group of engineers and waved them over. He pointed to the large center screen. “Our minisub, Crawfish -”

“You named a vehicle Crawfish,” Ken asked with a disapproving sniff as he came up behind them. Quatre had to hold back a bark of laughter. 

“It’s too long to be called a crab,” Jeffers replied with a glare.

Quatre cleared his throat and motioned at the screen. “So, the Crawfish.”

“We figured if we can tunnel down to the suits like an ant, we could at least get one guy down there to do the resupply. The crawfish,” Jeffers said, nodding to the dark cave-like image on the screen. “Is a two person craft. Pilot and technician. It’s not big so we were able to squeeze it down in there. We rigged it with an oxygen hose, but she can’t get all the way in, so Kasey, our technician, is going to go out and resupply each suit manually.

Quatre clapped Jeffers on the shoulder in congratulations. “Good work,” he told him. Jeffers nodded his thanks, keeping his eyes trained on the screen. No longer was an image of the minisub traveling down the tunnel the object of their attention. Bulky padded arms protected from the deadly vacuum of space slowly crawled Kasey, taking the entire room with him. Every movement forward traveled with the bated breaths of over two dozen hopes and fears.

A voice crackled as a mountain of metal entered view. “I’ve found the first mobile suit. Proceeding to resupply oxygen.” Quatre’s hand searched for Trowa’s. Strong fingers gripped his, squeezed in comfort. Moments later an excited voice broke the silence.

“Oxygen levels of suit twenty three are rising!”

Quatre peered across the room. “Confirm?!” His wasn’t the only voice he heard. Jeffers caught his eye. 

“Oxygen levels rising,” a second voice called out from another set of instrumentation. “Auxiliary power is decreasing. Heading back to main power.” 

A round of cheers went around the room amd Quatre chewed his lower lip in an attempt not to get too excited. They were far from being out of the woods. He couldn’t help it. He smiled. “Trowa,” he whispered.

“I know,” Trowa answered quietly. 

A jolt came out of nowhere. The video feed died simultaneously as the lights went out and the entire room began shaking violently. A deep rumbling sound barreled around underneath them. Quatre got knocked down. He threw his arms out to catch himself. He felt Trowa crouching next to him as his boyfriend managed to keep his feet under him. 

Terrified screams and curses echoed throughout the room.

Quatre felt the large satellite engines kick to life. Slowly they began to move. 

“It’s stabilizing itself.” Trowa’s voice. 

Lights began coming back on to the hum of the backup generators. Quatre looked around. Computer screens began clicking back on. People helped each other to their feet. Quatre pushed himself up, looking to the main screen. 

It was black.

“Status?!” he called out. No one answered. Quatre looked around. Jeffers was pale. Those under him looked ashen. Quatre’s heart sank. “Jeffers, I need status,” he said quietly. Jeffers cleared his throat and asked for a status check from each department. Down the list he received somber answers.

“The satellite is intact, but we’ve experienced major damage.”

“Structure stability can’t be guaranteed.”

“Backup generators only have twelve hours of power before we go dark.”

And the one Quatre most dreaded. “We’ve lost contact with all twelve stuck crew plus the mini sub pilot and technician. They’re just...gone.” Quatre closed his eyes. It was surreal. He felt numb. Fourteen lives. Gone. With many more now in danger due to instability. 

“Topside crew,” Jeffers asked.

“Accounted for, sir.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” Jeffers muttered quietly. 

Quatre opened his eyes and turned toward Jeffers. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Bring them in. Stabilize this place as best you can, then evacuate to the colony.” Jeffers nodded. 

He turned toward the door, but Trowa’s gentle hand in front of him blocked his movement. He looked up, meeting his eyes. “I have to make phone calls,” he told him quietly. “Then Marney.”

“I’ll do what I can here,” Trowa said quietly. Quatre nodded and left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, peeps! I hope you guys like this story. This is the second (and final) full-length part of my Quatre & Trowa fanfiction. I had originally intended my foray into fanfiction to be a single story, but towards the middle/end of Back To Reality, the pieces of this one started to form, so I had to follow it! It is a bit of a different type of story than BTR was, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Please note, if you didn't notice the date markers between the prologue and chapter one, there is a nine-year jump, so quite a bit of life happened in between this story and BTR. Once this story gets finished, I have a few deleted scenes/one-shots that will give glimpses of the time spent in between. As always, let me know what you think. 
> 
> Thanks and Enjoy,
> 
> LadyJFox


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